qua·qua·ver·sal
by DearNoah
Summary: "I would never hurt you if I had the choice." Doctor Jonathan Crane's past before the full consumption and erosion of his mind. He almost loved once. Crane/OC
1. Chapter 1

**- Quaquaversal - **

**- Sloping downward from the center in **** every direction **instantaneously -

* * *

The library is almost deserted. With maybe a few odd people here and there, a sophomore is studying at one of the desks and the librarian clicking away at her keyboard. The place smells of old books and wood, it's pleasant enough to tolerate for short periods of time. Jonathan finds himself tucked away in the west end in the psychology section, he is almost alone. With the exception of the buzzing he hears in his head, like a wasp within his skull. An annoyance and constant reminder.

He's on new meds as of three weeks ago, so far he finds himself fine; there are less shadows and voices that he can pick up on. It's the first time in six years that he's taking them again, something about the stress of schooling and paying the bills of his cheap house just outside the Narrows. The regular sirens and disturbances from outside bother him and make it near impossible to catch sleep with. He knows that it is also a side effect, not being able to sleep. Today he is especially tired and has opted to go without popping pills. Hopefully the night will be calm and he will find rest.

He fingers across the book spines, at each incorrectly placed volume he stops to alphabetize. Finally he finds it, tapping three times on the one he desires before picking it up. He has a small smile on his face, at the taps he is required to perform. Obsessive compulsive disorder. He was diagnosed before he could even walk. Jonathan is not an average man crippled with OCD, not a hoarder or germaphobe afraid of contamination and disease. But instead he counts, his preference is the number three and seven, many times he checks his if his oven is turned off three times before leaving his home. His compulsive behaviours are well hidden, but his obsessive thoughts are haunting.

But that is old news; he carries on with his mundane life.

Leaning against the bookshelves he dives right in the paperback copy of Dr. Addam Rackofsky's Psychological Warfare and Analysis. The man is blunt in his words, but Jonathan knows that these passages are not meant to be read by simple minds that can barely grasp warfare. He understands immediately, because he has lived it for two decades. His whole life.

Nearly an hour passes by before he hears a woman's soft voice, "Excuse me."

Not many can sneak up on him. He glances over the page number before gently closing the book and looking to the woman. She is different looking than most of his peers, not tall and pale in skin, probably due from the general lack of sun that surrounds Gotham. But she looks of partial Spanish descent, with big brown eyes and shapely lips. Her hair is wild on her shoulders, a mess of curls and loops. Jonathan can't help but stare, he rarely gets to enjoy the close proximity of aesthetically pleasing females. Then he recognizes her as a similarly invisible girl in a few of his psych classes.

He moves away from the shelf he was covering with his thin frame and gestures to her that she is welcome to search for a book. She plays with the hem of her black thermal shirt and mutters a thank you. She is shy, he doesn't linger around. Instead he retreats to a table and fishes out his journal from his backpack. The buzzing in his head seems louder almost, sickening and persistent.

Jonathan is surprised when the girl comes and joins him at his table. Usually he would be irritated with the disturbance, but as of late he has been left alone, the _other guy_ has given him some time to himself. So he takes off his glasses to clean with a small piece of cloth that he leaves in his pocket, and he waits for the woman to speak.

He is a patient man after all.

She looks timid, that makes him feel at ease. After organizing her books on the table she looks to him and says, "You looked lonely."

There is a part of him that feels a bit off put by the sudden attention he seems to be receiving. There was nothing outstandingly physically attractive about him, he knew this and had no problem accepting his narrow shoulders and spindly limbs. Even his face, the sharp bone structure, almost feminine. And his eyes, sapphire cold blue, he recalls a boy from elementary school calling him creepy for having the stare of a ghost. Needless to say, on top of being physically inept and suffering from multiple progressing mental disorders, growing up was not exactly a pleasant experience for him.

But Jonathan is not one for pity, so he digresses and thinks back on the woman's comment; lonely. Well he was alone; it was rare privilege to find himself in such a peaceful state.

"I was reading. Typically that doesn't require the assistance of another's company." He states, his voice soft and lacking any sort of frustration. He simply speaks his mind, though he almost regrets coming off so rude, but he doesn't mind warding off social interactions.

The comment seems to roll off her like water, and she replies, "It takes a wallflower to see a wallflower."

The way she stares into his eyes he feels sick, he then notices the light freckles that scatter across her face. She's pretty, he quickly shakes off the thought, "I don't mind being a wallflower."

She drums her fingertips against the dark wood of the table. He notes that her nails look clean, unpolished but trimmed down and taken care of. Catching his eyes at his fingers, she then brings her hand back into the palm of her other. He looks away, humiliated at being caught staring.

The girl must feel guilty about the general awkward tension at the table, because then she says, "I'm in three of your classes."

"I know. You have been for the last two months." There is casual indifference laced into his words.

"I've been watching you for a while." She blurts out unexpectedly. Jonathan smirks at her boldness and at the blush creeping up her cheeks, she tries to recover from the embarrassing statement, and adds in haste, "I didn't mean it like that. It's just I really enjoyed your seminar project on subliminal fear and its effects in human interaction. And I think you're kind of cute, not in a weird crazy stalker way."

She is so willing, for the first time in his life there is an innocence directed to him, eager to know him and build a normal relationship. Pathetic rambling, but he feels something inside of him when he realizes that he didn't even need to manipulate or trick her into his company. For once it would seem that prey has fallen right into his hands. He tries to shake off the grim thoughts, wondering if he should have taken his medicine for the day, or if he is trying to justify his own perverse mind with the _other guy_.

"Maybe I like crazy." He finally says with a small smile, not quite a whisper but hushed, in an almost secretive kind of way.

She gives a nervous laugh, "I suppose that's why you're reading Rackofsky. But I should probably let you get back to your studies."

He peers down at his book and realizes he hasn't flipped the page since sitting down, he has been distracted. It's funny, he feels normal for a second, with hormones and feelings and nothing to undermine them. He doesn't feel stupid for finding himself preoccupied by a woman; normally _he_ would ridicule him for it.

So he meets her gaze again, "I don't quite mind. Though it would be easier to talk to you if I knew your name."

"Maria Rose Blaire." She introduces herself politely.

He closes his book gently before replying, "Jonathan Thomas Crane."

Maria gives him a coy smile, "Pleasure to finally meet you."

"_**Fuck her Johnny." **_He hears the voice unexpectedly slices through his subconscious, it is cackling with glee,_** "She wants you to destroy her."**_

Jonathan shivers and says to Maria with dark humor lacing his words "Don't be too sure of that just yet."

He could swear there was an angry swarm of bees beneath the table.

Two weeks later he is sitting in his Central Therapeutic Human Development class. Seated in his usual spot, eight rows from the professor, far back enough where he won't get called on to answer. Usually he finds himself taking notes and highlighting the lines of his research book, he is organized to the final detail. But today Jonathan Crane is lazy, instead he rests the side of his face on his palm and tries not to doze off, he blames his tiredness because he hasn't gotten much sleep later, and this is one of the longer night classes he has.

More than once he is distracted with the girl sitting two rows below him, diagonal to his left. For the whole class she doesn't once look back at him, instead he watches her jot down descriptions and definitions into her papers. It's been different since their meeting in the library, he wonders if she is already uninterested with him.

She wouldn't be if she could see the sketches upon sketches of her in his notebook.

Class is over and after packing up his things he turns to head up the stairs to the doorway, but stops when he hears Maria call his name. She is wearing a white shirt and simple faded jeans, her bangs are clipped to the side, he thinks she looks plain. He is comfortable with that.

"Maria." His voice doesn't sound familiar to him, he is distant but the sound of her name on his lips still strikes him puzzled. He's not even sure if he's spoken out loud at all that day.

"It's been hectic with all these reports and assignments." She declares, it's a strange introduction into a conversation, and she almost sounds like she's trying to convince herself.

"Here I thought you had just figured out how boring I was." He replies humourlessly.

She bites her lip in hesitation, "No. I just had a lot on my mind."

They walk up the stairs together and he doesn't say anything. Because at the moment he is visualizing grabbing a handful of her curls and tugging on them as she teases him with her beautiful lips. He half listens to her as the make their way through the quiet university halls. All the time trying to suppress images of her going down on him, like he's visualized for the past few nights. It's not until they reach the parking lot when she repeats his name, to draw back his attention to her. He peers down at her; she is at least eight inches shorter than him. There is a trickle of dark blood running down from her right eye, spilling out of the tear duct and rolling down cheek. His breath hitches and he blinks, the blood is gone.

"Yes?" He murmurs, pulse racing and his hand clenched tightly unto his car keys.

Her eyes are cast towards the ground, and she answers gently, "It's alright, I should probably be getting to the bus. Thanks for walking me."

"_**Now." **_A shadow in the corner calls to him.

He swallows and fidgets with the zipper on his corduroy coat, "It's not too late if you wanted to..."

"Hang out?" she finishes off his sentence.

He puckers his lips together slightly, almost amused by her openness. He nods, "Yeah maybe a drink or something."

He feels like an idiot.

But Maria's eyes light up and she twirls a loose strand of hair that has fallen to frame her face before tucking it behind her ear. She gives him a small grin, one that shows her straight white teeth, and says, "That sounds nice."

He offers to drive and she accepts. For the entire ride to the pub they listen to the radio, it's a song he doesn't quite know and he doesn't pay it much mind. Because he can only focus on two facts; how he's not supposed to mix liquor with his pills and how long it's been since he's been with a woman.

"You look tense." She observes as they drive through the lit up streets of Gotham.

He shrugs with questionable apathy to his own well-being, "I always look this way."

"Hmmm...Maybe you're thinking too hard." She remarks lightly.

"I'm always thinking." He mutters under his breath, pausing to look over at her and smirk, "I don't do this very often."

"Do what?" she asks innocently.

"This." He gestures with his hand to the both of them and the streets ahead of him, ongoing traffic and lit up city of Gotham, skyscrapers almost reaching the stars and constant life within its compounds. Jonathan can only think about how badly he wants to see it all burn down. He licks his dry lips and adds, "I don't usually go out with other people. You might be surprised but I'm a bit of a hermit."

Her laugh radiates the atmosphere of the car, he's not sure if he like it or not.

They enter the bar and soon after taking seats in a secluded booth he decides now's a better time than any to test a theory of his. He wonders if there is anything she would not be so keen for, then his mind goes back to the thoughts of her tongue and the wicked things he's imagined she can do. His hypothesis stands that if he pushes hard enough then she will be his.

She's half way done her second bloody Mary and he notes that she is even calmer when drinking, maybe just more relaxed. He feigns interest when she mentions some article she's read, only paying attention to the way she licks her bottom lip as she becomes slowly intoxicated. The taste of whiskey in his mouth lingers on his breath; he smells it and thinks to ask himself if he is drunk too. The night is a blur to him, they talk and drink, at one point she has moved over to his side of the booth. When he makes the subtle move to brush his hand against her thigh or gently rub his leg against hers, she doesn't fight it, but she doesn't retaliate either. Her attention seem be extremely focused to just his presence, not the rowdy horseplay of a group of young men at the pool table, or the music from the stereo speakers. She is in the calm daze; Jonathan almost feels the same way.

"You think this is a good idea." He comments with spiced bourbon still staining his lips. It's not a question, instead he has made a simple observation, and he has told her what is already going through her mind.

She takes his glass from his hand and takes a small drink; she fails to hide the cringe that she makes after swallowing the strong alcohol. Then she states airily, "I never said that."

He should be annoyed by her invading his privacy and taking his drink, but instead he only yawns tiredly, "You wouldn't be here if you didn't."

She places her small hand on his thigh and gives a hushed giggle, "I do a lot of things that aren't necessarily good ideas."

Jonathan is about to respond to her touch when he feels a tap on his shoulder and hears someone, _**"Sir your drink."**_

He doesn't remember ordering another, but turns to receive it anyways. He is then met face to face with a black goblin like masked man, with sharp teeth and a Cheshire cat like grin upon its face. It looks all too real to be a mask; he has seen this character before, three times when he was just a boy. Jonathan gasps and swings his arm off the table, knocking down his own glass. The cup shatters on the floor and Jonathan looks up from the shards of glass and mess of ice cubes and whiskey to see the monster gone.

The hallucinations are getting worse.

Maria is already trying to assist him, but he is unresponsive. Automatically he reaches in his pocket and leaves some cash on the table, then taking Maria's hand to lead her out of the corrupted place. She looks worried and rushed; she hasn't even had enough time to put her coat on. The cold winter air has left her covered in goose bumps and shivering like a child.

"Jonathan, are you okay?" she questions as he unlocks his car.

He closes his eyes for a moment, before sitting in his driver's seat and waiting for her to join him. When she buckles in he looks at her and tries to remain calm, "I'm fine. I just have a headache and remembered why I don't go out often."

"Do you want me to drive?" she asks breathily. She's drunker than he is, he can tell by her drooping eyelids and the way she leans her body closer to his seat.

He shakes his head, "No. I'll drop you home."

"I live in River Heights; it's half an hour from here." She says slowly, "I'll just take the bus, Jon."

"_**Just let the bitch take the bus, Jon." **__He_ spits, emphasizing his shortened name with disgust, _**"We're going to have fun tonight regardless of whether she's here or not."**_

"No!" he barks out, Maria places her hand on his wrist comfortingly. She looks like she's about to say something but he cuts her off, "No that's ridiculous."

She bites her lip softly, "Tomorrows Saturday...I could stay the night here. I just don't think you should be driving this late back into town."

He knows he should refuse. He never has people over. But he decides that maybe for the sake of the experiment he should continue. And part of him knows she's right, he doesn't want to have another episode when he's alone on the dark streets of Gotham. So hoarsely he asks, "Would that be okay?"

She smiles and gives his arm a light squeeze before answering, "Of course."

It's an uneventful car ride, the voices don't bother him again and he's nearly sure Maria will fall asleep soon. Maybe that's a good thing, maybe it's not. When he pulls into his small driveway he has to nudge her softly to make sure she hasn't passed out on him. She looks embarrassed when she finally realizes they're at their destination.

"I'm normally not such light weight." She mutters awkwardly, as if trying to justify her state of intoxication.

He rolls his eyes as he unlocks his front door, "Two bloody Mary's and you're a mess."

"You're just about as much of a mess as I am." She replies coolly walking in after him.

He almost smirks at that, "You don't even know the half of it."

Something's not right, even his observation of her alcohol intake, she should be buzzed maybe. He puts that thought at the back of his mind and leads her through the tiny home. The front door opens to a small living room, with an old loveseat place against the wall and a plain coffee table. There is a TV in the corner of the room, he doesn't use it much, and he hates the sound of static. They walk down a narrow hall that reveals stairs to the upper level and his kitchen unit. It's not much, but it's what he's saved up in his years in and out of foster homes. There is a bitter feeling that washes over him when he thinks back to those days. He'll show them, he thinks to himself as he fishes into his cupboard to retrieve two glasses.

"Water?" he extends the cup to her after filling it with tap water.

She is quiet, "Thank you."

He leans against his counter and watches her take a slow drink. Jonathan takes off his glasses and places them next to him before sighing into his cup. It's nearly one in the morning and he's tired of playing college boy. Looking back to Maria, he notices her eyes are scanning the area; she looks hesitant, as if she's got questions running through her head. He doesn't blame her; he's a very strange man after all.

He gets frustrated by the silence, and the crawling darkness from the vent near the back wall. Finally he snaps at her, "What?"

She seems startled by his outburst, but answers nevertheless, "You don't have people over often do you?"

He snorts, "What gave me away?"

This time she doesn't reply to him. Instead she puts down her cup and steps towards him. In his personal space again she is only inches away from his body. He feels trapped against the counter, but he doesn't bother to move. Maria squints at him, as if analyzing with much thought. He knows he's grinning right now, but still she says nothing.

Finally she exhales softly, "Have you ever been with a woman, Jonathan?"

Just like that he retreats to the night he lost his virginity. It was another girl in the foster home he lived in. He had been fifteen at the time, Annie was two years older. He remembers it being quick, and awkward. He never really got the rhythm right, and the passion was just not there. They were high then, it was in fact Annie who had introduced him to that sick spiral of drugs. But very early in that game he realized that his trips would always be bad, that _he _fed off of opportunities to take advantage of Jonathan's fuzzy conscious. But it was then he realized how powerful drug trips were. And how the worse they were the better. It was an addiction, not the drugs, but how easily he could operate the perception of aspects of one's mind during each psychedelic experience he witnessed. She had told him once that it was acid that liberated her mind from its ordinary restraints. He remembers how easy it was for him to convince her to jump from the roof of the old light factory.

It was his first time.

It's Maria's soft touch that wakes him from his thoughts, the feel of her pelvis against his. She is so close, he looks into her clouded eyes, and then he notices her dilated pupils. It makes sense then. He grabs her wrists and shakes her softly, "Are you drugged?"

She blinks at him and immediately repeats his own words, "Are YOU drugged?"

He doesn't say anything, so she continues, "You're different Jonathan."

Clearly. He almost rolls his eyes but still manages to let out a small, "Oh?"

"I see you fighting with yourself." She answers shamelessly. "I see the way you fight him."

He almost laughs.

His grips on her wrists loosen and his hand halfway up her arm before he brings it back to himself. Then he says, "Schizophrenia and Dissociative identity disorder."

He half expects her to leave.

But instead she presses her mouth against his, so soft that when she moves back after only a short moment, he almost wonders if he's imagined it. Her face is expressionless as she stares into him. He places his lips on hers this time; he is aggressive but doesn't not touch her anywhere else. For he has no idea what he's doing. Maria's fingers lace with his and before he can think he has already pushed her against his counter, lips crushing her own, he's sure they will be swollen and bruised in the morning. When she begins to rake her fingers into his hair, and the other hand scratching at his back through his shirt he hears her hushed moan.

"I want to feel you."

So she does. He nearly gasps when she slips her hands under his shirt and lightly tickles the flesh on his ribs. In fluid motion she takes the hem of his shirt and motions for him to allow her to pull it over his head, he complies wordlessly. Her lips return to his a moment after, her hands roam his body and send tingles throughout his skin. Jonathan has never found himself self-concious of his body, but when Maria begins to suck and bite at his neck, tracing her hand over his bony sternum, he almost can't believe that she's here.

Then he panics, pulling away from her he asks desperately, "You're real?"

She nods and then proceeds to slip off her shirt and unzip her jeans, he just watches her strip as his chest heaves up and down with his ragid breathing. She is quiet as her bra falls off of her, revealing her perky breasts, small but Jonathan realizes he doesn't mind. At all. Her panties drop to the floor next, and then she is there standing in front of him completely naked.

"I'll show you how real I am." She promises wickedly.

He almost lets her prove herself in the kitchen, against the counter. But instead he takes her hand and leads her to his bedroom, simple and clean. It is seconds after he has taken off all of his clothes that she lowers herself to pleasure him orally. But he stops her, even though he has thought of it many times as of late, he pins her down with his own weight and shoves his tongue into her mouth. It is a fit of passion, of built up hormones and sexual frustration. She's different than Annie though, because she kisses him back, soft kisses that linger against his mouth and throat. Finally she directs him into her; he can't help but make a small gasp as he penetrates her very being. Maria's hips jerk upwards, and in a whirlwind of violent thrusts and a fight for dominance he finds himself pressing into her gasping out at the indescribable satisfaction. But he's not ready to touch her with his hands, to scratch and squeeze and feel her. His hands are covered in red, stained from _him_. Jonathan is relieved when her own fingers sneak down to her clit, stimulating and rubbing raw at the slick nub. Just as she hits her orgasm her walls clench around his, vibrating in a way that sends him to his peak.

Jonathan pulls out of her and rolls on to his back, he's not really sure of the post-sex guidelines, he hopes whatever it is goes by quick, because he's tired enough to just fall asleep then. But Maria just intertwines her fingers with his and brings his hand to her mouth, kissing the inside of his wrist. She yawns before saying, "We'll be okay."

He can still her breathing softly next to him. He wets his dry lips with his tongue and rasps out, "Thank you."

**_"Anytime Johnny boy."_** The madness cackles from inside.

* * *

I would really appreciate reviews, thank you.


	2. Chapter 2

**Sunlight pouring across your skin, your shadow**  
** flat on the wall. **  
** The dawn was breaking the bones of your heart like twigs. **  
**You had not expected this, **  
** the bedroom gone white, the astronomical light**  
** pummeling you in a stream of fists. **  
** You raised your hand to your face as if**  
** to hide it, the pink fingers gone gold as the light**  
**streamed straight to the bone, **  
** as if you were the small room closed in glass**  
** with every speck of dust illuminated. **  
** The light is no mystery, **  
**the mystery is that there is something to keep the light**  
** from passing through. **

**_ - Visible World_, Richard Siken - **

* * *

Morning light beams through the half opened blinds of his window. Jonathan swallows and winces with the disgusting taste of the bourbon from last night still burning his throat. He runs a hand through his unruly hair and takes a deep breath. He's already aware that his bed is lacking another person, not surprised when he turns over and sees the empty space next to him. Disappointment washes over him; he rebukes the emotional reaction and pulls himself out of bed. Part of him wonders if it was just another episode, he can't be sure if he hasn't just made it up.

The memory of her eyes rolling back into her head and the pain of her nails in his flesh were so vivid though. He had felt young; he had felt like he was twenty, like his life had just begun. He had forgotten about his past, about _him_.

Peeling off the sheets he notes that he is in fact sitting in bed naked, he shrugs it off and heads to the bathroom. When he sees the faded lipstick smudged over his lips he gives a wry smile. What a peculiar way to start the day. The voices are silent; usually he is safe in the mornings, but this morning is not like the others, all he can do it wait.

White foam swirls around in his sink after he rinses toothpaste out of his mouth; he runs the tap again, this time splashing his face with cold water. Jonathan looks back to mirror, he's not afraid of seeing a strange face from his nightmares, it's almost cliché, he anticipates that sort of thing. But there is no one but himself, looking deeper into his reflection he notices something that he hadn't before. There are little red bruises on the right side of his neck, not quite strangle marks, he is confused for a moment. And then his eyes roam the rest of his body, his back is covered in various scratches and his sides are bruised as well.

"I'm sorry about all of that." Maria apologizes from the doorway.

He doesn't turn around to reply, only feeling around his neck at the sore spots. Neither does he makes comment that it's rude to walk in on someone while their brushing their teeth in the nude. But then he recalls that he had actually left the door wide open. Finally he remembers the words he had been searching for, "You've marked your territory like some hormonally charged high school girl."

Jonathan turns away from the mirror and grabs a towel from the rack to wrap around his waist. He catches her glance at his body and smirks a little. Oh she was so willing. She is wearing her jeans, rolled to an inch or two above her thin ankles. And his shirt, an off-white blouse he hasn't worn in a while. She looks better it than he ever did. He makes sure not to direct too much attention to her; he pretends that his towel is much more interesting than the woman he's just slept with.

She leans in the doorway and stifles a short snort, "Next time I'll know."

He freezes at her words. Was he already committing himself to a future of wild sex with a girl he barely knew? Was he unhappy with that? Yes, she would certainly get in the way.

"Next time?" he verifies with a hint of curiosity in his voice, though his tone is short and to the point.

Maria's face drops, she seems almost upset with herself, "I guess not. Well... this was nice, but clearly if you're not looking for anything..."

He wasn't.

"Sorry." She mutters, "Thanks for...uh letting me stay the night. I'll just be going now."

He scratches the back of his neck awkwardly, "Sorry to have disappointed you."

She doesn't look at him, "It's fine. I understand. Sometimes we all need some stress relief."

He watches her leave his bathroom and for a moment just stands still on the cold tile floor. He considers his options, even calculating the factors of having regular "stress relief" as a reoccurrence of his life. It doesn't sound too bad. So he grabs his bottle of pills from behind the cabinet and empties two capsules in his palm before dry swallowing them. Then he makes way to catch up with Maria. He's ashamed to admit he moves at a quickened pace, hoping to get to her before she leaves.

He finds her tying her shoes at the front door, she looks up to him in surprise. Her eyes look shiny, he assumes she's upset. She opens her mouth to say something he knows will be driven by her hurt feelings, but cuts her off.

"You're still wearing my shirt." It's probably not the best thing to say in this situation. He mentally kicks himself, wondering if his lack of interaction with human beings has made him into some socially inept fuck.

Maria looks furious. He doesn't blame her.

But instead of yelling or becoming violent, she just unbuttons the shirt slowly, removing it from her body and tossing it to him. He almost doesn't catch it, being too distracted with the little lace fabric that strategically, but barely covers her breasts. Her nipples peak out from behind the shear material. The expression on her face says "I dare you." And Jonathan's never turned down a dare.

"Quite the call for attention, Maria." His voice is professional yet taunting, but he continues, "One might think you suffer from daddy issues or something equally as... sad."

She rolls her eyes, "You're going to lecture me on issues? Talk about the pot calling the kettle black."

She's got him there.

"I don't tolerate people very well." He warns, stepping closer to her. She doesn't say anything, he's sure is scared, the way he intimidates with the mind. But Jonathan also thinks that maybe he should have been less harsh, less himself. He sighs before stopping about two feet in front of her, "But I don't mind you."

"Really?" she asks, rather quickly.

He can't control the twitch in the corners of his mouth, he almost laughs at her juvenile behaviour, her temper tantrum and desperation. He tilts his head to the left and scratches his unshaven chin, contemplating whether or not he actually minds her presence. Finally he says, "Well I definitely don't loathe you entirely."

She puts her hands on her hips defiantly, "So you stopped me from leaving to tell me you don't hate my guts? You're something."

"Last night was nice." He states simply, his eyes roam her body shamelessly.

She crosses her arms in front her chest, still appearing to hold on to her initial anger. She is stubborn, but he knows she will come around, "I know. I was there."

"You know what I'm trying to say." He snipes back with building frustration.

"Do I?" she is still angry.

"Quit being a child, it's very unbecoming of you." His voice is low and suddenly he wishes he wasn't semi-naked, exposed and vulnerable in his own home. And even more, he wishes that she was still wearing his shirt, or at this point even a burlap sack.

"Quit walking around naked." She retorts with the hint of a grin, it's just a game to her, but he likes games.

He almost smiles at her, the woman who had put him in such a state and who seems to have read his mind. But instead he excuses himself, "I didn't have enough time to put on clothes before..."

He trails off.

"Before I left?" she finishes for him quietly.

"Yes." He answers quickly, as if it pains him to do so.

This time she smirks at his discomfort, "Don't walk around with your heart on your sleeve, Jonathan. It's very unbecoming of you."

The way she twists his own words, he is half annoyed and half flattered. She of course is so trite, he can't expect anything less that her need of approval from him. But he likes the way she rejects zeal, a foolish and enslaving cage. His stare softens and he advises her, "You'll find out that I don't have the heart to do so."

Her smirk disappears and she gives him a sad look, "Yes you do."

Jonathan thinks now is a good time to drop the subject. He breathes in and brushes some hair out from in front his eyes. He stares at her and notices her body tense. The way he can make her feel uncomfortable with just a look, he loves that power. He does not have a heart to wear on his sleeve.

So instead he just shrugs with nonchalance, "I know nearly nothing about you, yet you seem to think you know me so well."

He's referring to her statement last night. He knows she understands the implication he's made.

"My family has a bit of history for that kind of thing." Maria starts, her voice never wavering with uncertainty, "My mother was a schizophrenic and my father was really messed up from drugs. He ended up killing himself when I was twelve."

"That sounds horrid." He comments robotically, there is a slight drop in his stomach as he almost regrets the "daddy issues" comment. But he doesn't linger around that foreign feeling, he will not enable that.

"It was inevitable; he never really found anything to live for..." She looks to her hands to avoid making eye contact with him, she has become so small, but she continues on, "He jumped off the North Bay Bridge and washed up shore a day later. His skin was blue and washed out; he was still wearing his work suit. My mother was devastated."

"So she got worse?" he inquires, fully knowing how easily the mind could be consumed. Maria gives a slight nod.

"Naturally, yes."

They stand in silence, Jonathan isn't really sure if he feels anything for her. Not compassion or sympathy, not even basic attraction. She was too delicate for him. But there was safety with her, a girl who already knew. She could keep the demons at bay until he knew what else to do.

"Do you like me?" he questions, there is lack of emotion in his tone, he is assertive and to the point.

She shrugs, "I probably shouldn't."

He chuckles at this, and then he sees her smile. What an honest answer, he realizes then that it couldn't hurt to keep the girl around. She submits to him easily and he found himself entertained with her naivety.

He scratches his chest absent-mindedly, "You're right."

"But I do." Her voice is quiet, as if she hadn't meant for him to hear her.

"Well then I wouldn't be opposed to there being next time." It is a simple request, not an order. "Everyone should be allowed 'stress relief' don't you think?"

Her face lightens up, "Yes. Yes I do."

So it begins. Jonathan Crane with a pretty new accessory, a beautiful woman who will be a great addition to his games. And Scarecrow with a new toy, blood waiting to played in.

"_**Tick tock Johnny. How long will this one last?"**_

The next two months go by in a blur. Soon his first midterms are complete, with ease; Jonathan expects he has passed at top of his class. The holidays are right around the corner, he hasn't celebrated in over ten years. But lately whenever he spends time with Maria she is distracted, regardless of whether it is dedicated to sitting in the abandoned isles of the library as she reads to him with his head lying in her lap, or sipping coffee while walking through the crisp winter air. Even during sex he is sure she has something in the back of her mind, he hates when things are kept from him.

They walk along a deserted path at the campus, most of the students have returned to their homes for Christmas. She looks like a little girl, with her puffy brown parka and fluffy blue and yellow striped mittens. With lack of protection from the cold he walks with his hands in his pockets, his old coat barely keeping any warmth to his body. They don't hold hands in public.

"You look cold." She examines, kicking some snow with boredom.

He shrugs with indifference, "It is December."

Maria makes a little hum, "You know Christmas is coming up soon."

"I know." His voice is short; he hopes that she will take the hint. The holiday is only four days way, he was nearly sure he could have avoided this conversation as the weeks of December rolled by.

But she presses on, "Would it be okay if I got you something?"

He looks to her with a serious face, "You don't have to do that. I don't even celebrate Christmas."

She gives him a questioning look, "You don't...ever?"

He exhales, seeing his breath crawl out of his mouth in the cool air. "Not anymore."

And he's telling the truth. He doesn't decorate with tinsel or stockings, and he hasn't had a tree in four years. Even presents, he never cared for. Most of the time they were impractical and wastes of money. The whole event was just commercial anyways.

"Oh come on!" He can feel the sickness form in his stomach from her persistence over the subject. She rubs her shoulder against his, an attempt to use her girlish seduction to soften him, "I can give you anything you want."

"_**She can give you herself. Take her. Use her." **_This time it's not the usual voice. This character speaks in hushed hisses. _**"Give US your mind."**_

"N-No." He shivers out, not too sure who he is addressing. Jonathan frowns as a chill runs down his spine, "You can't."

Worry enters her stare, though too uncertain about his intentions to fully express it. "Well who can then?"

"No one can." He refuses to give her false hope. Now's not the right time anyways, he is content with her. And he is not upset, because Jonathan understands; this is only human of her to desire. He tries not to look into her eyes; because what he sees in them unnerves him, there is sadness and greed.

For a moment she just looks up to the sky, the light snow that is falling from above. Finally she asks, "You're using me then?"

_"Yes..."_ he thinks, _"But you already knew that."_

Instead he just frowns, "Don't do this Maria."

She stops in her tracks, "I just don't understand why you have to make yourself out to be some monster. We all have problems Jonathan."

His problems are a little deeper than that. His problems are so evolved that they have names, and they control him. Jonathan's hand raises to his temple and his fingers graze over stitches near his hairline.

It was earlier that week, in his shower. Mindlessly washing himself, bar of soap scrubbing roughly on his stomach until his skin turned pink. He doesn't recall when exactly it happened, but thoughts of Maria had floated into his usual cleaning routine, and quickly he found himself masturbating to the memory of her mouth, just reading to him like she did. His forehead leaned against the shower wall, eyes shut tightly as hot water streamed down his back. His breathing was rigid, almost panting for air amongst the thick steam.

It was then he envisioned his hands wrapped around Maria's neck. Squeezing firmly, his thumb pushing down on the ridges of her larynx. He tried to wake himself up, but his body and mind was now moving automatically, physically his shaking fist sliding up and down his cock, while mentally he had just begun gagging her.

"_**Kill her. Kill her."**_

Her muffled cries filled his head, just like the others.

"No. No stop." He choked out, feeling vomit make its way up his throat.

"_**Kill her and we'll leave."**_

That's what they said last time.

And then it happened, as he saw her body fall limp to the ground, he finished. His trembling palm covered in mucky blood, the shower wall splattered in red. Retching violently, the blood that never was washed down the drain and he blacked out.

He had awoken crumpled up inside the small shower. The water still ran, but by then it was freezing cold. There was a sharp pain coming from the side of his head, and when he had left the shower and dried up he found that there was a small split right above his eyebrow from hitting his head. She didn't quite believe him when he said he had simply just fallen in the shower, but she didn't question him either.

When they get to the parking lot Maria announces, "I think I'm going to go home tonight."

"Sure." He responds dully, snowflakes now falling heavily from the stormy clouds, "I'll see you later."

"Alright." She mutters before heading towards the bus stop.

What a simple goodbye.

Jonathan watches her walk away from him, sometimes he's not sure if he keeps her at arm's length to protect her, or if he isn't really capable of anything else. For some reason he finds her different than his last victims, maybe it's because they're sleeping together. It is however a very important variable to his research.

He goes after her, narrowly avoiding patches of ice. He calls, "Hey wait!"

She turns and he can't help but think how subtle her beauty is. The way snow is sprinkles all throughout her thick curls, and her nose reddened from the cold. She stands in place, but still shouts back, "What?"

He catches up to her and brings his nearly frost bitten hands to his face, cupping them at his mouth and blowing warm air into them. Then he stuffs them back into his pockets, "Why don't you stay with me?"

She raises a brow, "For the night?"

He just shakes his head.

"For the holidays?" she asks, he almost smirks at her confusion. When he nods in agreement she purses her lips, "Are you sure?"

"Obviously I wouldn't offer I wasn't sure...Didn't you say your roommate left for Metropolis last night?" he questions back, taking off his glasses as snowflakes begin to collect on the lens.

Maria blinks, shocked at his suggestion. After a moment to collect herself she manages, "Yeah. Danielle's visiting her parents."

"Well that's dandy." Sarcasm dripping from his lips.

"Yeah I guess it is." Her voice is distant; he knows she is still considering his offer. "I'll be okay on my own, you know."

"I'm not letting you take the transit when it's this dark out to an apartment that was reported to be three blocks away from another homicide four days ago." His voice is strict and ordering.

He shouldn't really be worried about that specific murder, as he was responsible for it. Just anxiety release from the shower incident, little sacrifices to keep _him_ at bay. Jonathan doesn't feel bad about it either, in fact the convulsing muscles and twitches that the man's body gave as he withered in fear was quite satisfactory. The way people way beg for their lives, pray to gods they had rebuked. It gave him butterflies.

He knows that she's convinced now, the way she bites her lip and yields to his act of chivalry. She gives a shy smile, "Okay. I will grace you with my presence."

He gives a light snort, "How very generous of you."

"I'll show you just how generous I'm feeling." She winks.

So willing.

She would be at fault for so many more unrecognizable bodies found in the alleys of Gotham. It was such a corrupt city, the crime rates climbing with each passing day. He hated this place, filthy with such greed and insolence. But he couldn't leave, for Gotham was full of fear.

On Christmas Eve he comes home from a meeting with Adrien Awlette, and middle man for Falcone. The meeting goes well, like he expected, and Jonathan has a shipment of nitrous oxide coming in soon. It is a base component of laughing gas; he will enjoy studying and manipulating its properties. All in all the exchange goes well, though he is surprised when the thug attempts to make small talk. He has already put himself above those men, for he is a warrior of intellect, not to be used in petty gang violence. He recalls the man asking we he was fucking around on Christmas Eve, Jonathan makes some excuse about drugs of some sort. There is no doubt that Adrien is knowledgeable in the area of chemistry.

But then he mentions that he will be spending the rest of the day with a friend. He's not sure why he says that.

As soon as he steps foot into his home he inhales the scent of sweets and sugar. He hangs his snow covered coat and pulls off his shoes. The house is warm and Jonathan can't help but feel relief of the small home he's always hated. It's just he's always hated winter more. Maria is in the kitchen, wearing a white turtle neck the black jeans that cling to her legs. She is barefoot, Jonathan has noted that she can't stand to wear socks, but still enjoys pressing her cold toes against his calves as she sleeps. Everyone has their vice, he supposes.

She puts on Christmas themed kitchen mitts and removes the freshly baked cookies from the oven. He clears his throat, realizing she is unaware that he's returned. She looks up from the tray and smiles at him.

"I know you said you didn't like Christmas, but I thought you should try my ginger snap cookies..." Maria pulls off the mitts and hands him a cookie. "The ovens been off for half an hour, I just left them in so they wouldn't get cold."

He doesn't fight her; instead he reaches into the fridge to find a carton of milk. As he is about to take it he sees a new addition to his refrigerator. There is a carton of eggnog. He hasn't had it in ages. It was a compromise he made, after banning decorations, including a Christmas tree and mistletoe. Maria had only asked for the holiday drink. She must have been watching him, because then she says, "You don't have to drink it."

He raises a brow at her mockingly, "I don't?"

She pouts, "No need to be mean."

After pouring them both mugs of eggnog, he takes quite a few cookies on a plate and leads her to the living room. He sits at the corner of the couch, and she leans into him, not in an overpowering "cuddly" way, but the kind that allows him to feel the warmth of her body. He flicks on the TV and they watch a documentary on the Aztec history. He enjoys himself about four cookies in the meantime.

During a commercial he turns to her, "These are good."

"Thank you. It's my mother's recipe." She takes a sip of the rich cream mixture. That is different. The way she so casually mentions her family. He wonders if she is baiting him, seeking solace in him. He will play along, he's gotten so good at it anyways.

He clucks his tongue against the roof of his mouth, "Your mother enjoyed baking?"

Her eyes lock with his, the way she stares into him is unnerving. She gives the slightest shrug, "Just because she was crazy doesn't mean she was invalid."

Sometimes that's exactly what it means.

"This is a nice not-Christmas." His voice is quiet as if he is trying to rationalize what exactly he is saying. There is a moment when he realizes that she has been so interested in the discovery channel, he wonders if she has even heard him.

"Yeah it is." Her reply sounds dreamy, almost like she's sleep talking.

Jonathan still feels excitement from his meeting today; he has had no one to share it with. Perhaps he could indulge with her; he wonders what she would think. He finishes off his eggnog and says, "I've been working on some independent research."

"Oh?"

"I'll be done with my studies at the end of the year, hopefully then I can start with my own." Child prodigy Jonathan Crane. He had always been smart as a kid, skipping a year of high school and completing biology and chemistry studies within a year. He had started at Gotham University at the age of seventeen, and three years later he was almost on his way to receive his Master's in Psychology and Pharmacology. Ambitious and driven to his goal. He was so close. "I can work on achieving my doctorate within the next three years if I can get in with a decent apprenticeship."

Maria turns to him, "What were you planning on doing?"

"_**How about tearing out your intestines and using them to hang you with?" **_a piercing shriek rings through his ears.

He takes a deep breath, "I'm working on an anxiety medication."

Well technically he was...even though his creation primarily caused anxiety.

He catches her interest, the way she looks at him. He knows she lives with chronic anxiety and manic depression. He once saw her medication in her bag, it had made him laugh, couldn't help but think it was too funny. Even the way she would ghost around and wouldn't say anything. And other times when he would confront and intimidate her, how quickly her bravery would waiver. Her breathing would become shallow and she would become a stuttering pathetic little girl. He lived for that fear.

He knew that this was the right time.

So he placed his hand on hers, as comforting as he could, "I need you to trust me."

Placing her eggnog unto the coffee table, she then settles in his lap. She gently removes his glasses, setting them next to her mug and then cupping his face so soothingly. She kisses his jaw. He allows himself to continue being straddled, though usually he opted for control. Clothes are impatiently pulled off, he doesn't mind the lack of foreplay, in fact it's only within moments they are having sex on his couch. Jonathan rocks back into the cushions as her hips grind against his, her breasts dance inches away from his nose; naturally his lips find her hardened nipples. He bites and licks, all while his pants lay at around his ankles, not having a care in the world to properly take them off. One hand is supporting her back, while another roams her body, one of a goddess.

As usual they are both silent. The narrative voice is still speaking from the TV, but he only hears her muffled moans as her teeth sink into his shoulder, even his own gasp is just a breathy shudder as he reaches his climax. Her movement is rhythmic and fervent. When they are both done she slips off, but remains cuddled into his side. He sighs and closes his eyes.

That's when he hears her, "I trust you Jonathan."

She really shouldn't.

* * *

Thank you to my lovely reviews, please continue with the feedback, as it makes it easier to write knowing that people are enjoying what they are reading.


	3. Chapter 3

**And in my best behaviour****  
****I am really just like him****  
****Look beneath the floor boards****  
****For the secrets I have hid**

**_- John Wayne Gacy, Jr._**** Sufjan Stevens -**

* * *

"Crane? Jonathan Crane?"

He looks up from the Reader's Digest magazine he had been absently flipping through for the past forty five minutes and sets it on the coffee table in front of him. The waiting room is eerily still; bland off white poorly painted walls and rough carpet frayed at the corners of the room.

There is a man in the corner with an anxious bouncing knee and a woman wearing red rubber boots, as though it had recently poured in the city of Gotham. He had gathered enough information over the past twelve appointments to deduce the nutty middle-aged man still lived with his mother and a woman in her late twenties was in constant paranoia of rain. Of course observing them could have been enough, but Jonathan always went the extra mile with his work, recording notes off of their confidential patient folders. Not too interesting. They were just everyday crazies that would serve their purpose eventually.

But now was time for his monthly check-up, _he_ would have to wait. Jonathan follows a nurse to a familiar room and sits on the medical bed, the crinkling of paper beneath him and the ticking of a clock on the wall piercing through the otherwise silence. It was always like this. Nurses did not speak with patients, and most of the time patients would wait for Doctor Canning to proceed with the appointment. It was strange to be associated with fellow mental illness patients, who were so pathetically controlled with their crippling diseases. Sometimes he felt as if he was one of them, sometimes he did not.

A few minutes pass before the Doctor comes in. He is in his fifties, a man with a full head of grey hair and a thick moustache. His eyes are always soft, almost like speaking with family. He starts with a predictable welcome, "How are you, Jon?"

They were well past the first session stage. He didn't need to avoid or lie about trivial things. No more questions revolving around his family history or trauma and abuse involving past and current relationships. He came for meds and that was all he required. Not some waste of time therapy session. But still, to avoid raising suspicion he always played along.

Jonathan breathes in and puts on his best front, "I'm doing pretty well. Nearly done my studies and hopefully I'll be moving on to a co-op at the Asylum…and my knees are feeling a lot better."

He has always had bad knees. It got worse when he started playing racquetball and jogging regularly, usually he opted for less social interaction, but it was the occasional game with others that would earn him the trust as being somewhat normal. But the problems with his knees started long before that, he resented his second foster family for being the religious hacks that they were and forcing him to spend an hour each morning and night praying to every fucking saint imaginable. He had easily transferred himself when he told them the man he was talking to was Satan.

It wasn't. _He_ was much worse.

Dr. Canning flips through his note book and skims through some notes, "I'm glad to hear about your knees. Now how stable are you feeling mentally?"

He shrugs, "Fine."

"The voices?" Dr. Canning asks as he skims along some personal notes he has made over past appointments.

"There are less of them." He's not lying. The truth is the medicine he's on now has caused some changes. There are less shapes and faces in backgrounds, and less sounds or voices to listen to. The only thing is that one particular voice has yet to be affected, Jonathan wonders if sometimes that voice is just who he is, his alter ego. With the way _he _is so vivid and always seemingly there.

The doctor raises a brow, "What do they say?"

"The usual. But I've found ways to calm them." Jonathan says, though right now his mind is somewhere else. Now thinking of the chemicals he will need to improve the toxin he's been working on. He also has Leanne on his mind, the woman with the rain boots.

"What exactly do you do to calm them?"

**_Killing mostly._**

"Sex. I sort of have a girlfriend." He says with ease.

Dr. Canning looks a bit surprised, Jonathan the urge to slam his head into the wall. He scratches his chin with thought, "What do you mean by sort of?"

Jonathan licks his dry lips, now his mind is twisting around images of Maria, Leanne and the screams of past and future victims. "We haven't exactly labelled anything. She comes over and cooks for me sometimes. And we study together...along with the whole sex thing."

The older man smiles a proud smile, "I'm glad for you Jon. But please tell me you're using protection."

"She's on birth control. I'm not an idiot." He retorts sharply.

The psychiatrist raises his hands in defence, "Alright, no need to get upset. Now is there anything you need refilled or prescribed?"

"Now that you mention it..." Jonathan almost grins at how easy this is.

After his appointment finishes he says his goodbye and walks out the office a free man. It's dark out and still cool, even though spring has just started. Jonathan stands against the wall of the building and pulls out a cigarette, leaning against the hard bricks and takes a deep drag. He's nearly done his smoke when the heavy doors open and Leanne emerges from inside. She's frail and skinny, her blonde hair is bleached and straggly. The perfect look.

When she approaches her car he makes his move. Stepping out from behind his own vehicle parked next to hers, he inhales and gives a sweetened smile. "Leanne right?"

The woman looks a bit shaken with the encounter but replies nevertheless, "Y-yes...how can I help you?"

"**_Wouldn't you like to know?"_**

He is already standing next to her, eyeing her trembling hand, wondering if she's brave enough to try and make a move. He flicks his cigarette on the ground before saying, "You know I've always found those boots simply irresistible."

"Oh well th-thank you." Leanne stutters out anxiously, dropping her keys by accident. She doesn't expect the syringe in her neck when she bends down to retrieve them. Jonathan is swift; he catches her limp body in his arms and pulls her into the passenger seat of his car. Turning on the ignition, he drives down the street with unnatural calamity. The sedatives are weak; she will wake up in a matter of minutes. He parks in a quiet alley in Old Town, one of the poorer neighbourhoods of Gotham, and leans her against the wall behind a dumpster.

"**_Wake up bitch." _**He backhands her and smiles as she groans and finds consciousness.

"Wha...where am I?" she sputters out pathetically. He can almost taste her fear.

"Shut up." He hisses. He's close now, soon Jonathan will take a back seat and _he _will begin his games. There was no use in fighting it, he stopped trying in vain to stop the urges, now finding them to be a necessity he looked forward to. Besides, it was hard to revolt against it, especially when that particular person was so convincing. Threatening to rot what was left of his mind happened to be so persuasive to Jonathan.

"You're so silly Leanne. Afraid of a little drizzle." He mocks cruelly. Her body is still limp; he assumes that the paralysis hasn't worn off yet. It makes him giddy, to know that all she can do is watch, he can't wait for her much anticipated screams.

Tears are rolling down her eyes, "Are...are you going to rape me?"

He laughs out, "Oh God no. Your purpose is much more significant than sexual gratification. What do you take me for Lee-anne?" Maybe it's the way he pauses in-between the syllables of her name, all he knows is that her crying is music to his ears. "It's looking a bit stormy out tonight."

She visibly pales, "Please...please don't...I'll do anything."

"But you're doing everything I need right now." he chirps while skipping off to his car. He pulls out a tin watering can out of the trunk that he had previously put inside and places it next to her. "We're going to have so much fun."

"I'll scream!" she exclaims through sobs.

"I'll gag you and then leave you out in the rain." He teases while inserting a barrel of transparent mixture into a small needle he's pulled out of his jacket. It's such an empty threat, but he knows her biggest fear, he knows she will succumb to terror. They always do.

Her eyes widen, "My parents...please...oh please. I can't, they di-"

"Died in a horrible car accident during a heavy rainstorm when you were six." He interrupts voice deeper now, almost in a whisper. "Drove into a ditch and you waited in the back seat for hours until someone finally saw it and pried you out of the mangled 1994 blue Ford Mondeo. Had to sit with your dead parents while the rain went pitter-patter all night long."

She's wailing now, the mixture of tears and snot on her face is disgusting yet encouraging at the same time. "H-how? How did you know?"

He raises a brow, "I read through your records. Please Leanne, I know you're crazy not stupid."

"You bastard!" she screams out.

"**_Now." _**The voice in his head orders.

"You shouldn't have done that. All I wanted to do was talk." He mutters. Without warning Jonathan grabs at her jaw roughly, squeezing her cheeks in painfully and jerking her head to the right. He takes her arm and stabs her quickly with his new needle.

Her eyes roll back into her head as she begins to foam at her mouth. He tentatively watches, his thin fingers wrapping around the handle of the watering can. He raises it slowly above her head and begins to pour. "Rain, rain go away, come again another day."

She gurgles and begins to twitch. Then she starts to scream, shrieking and convulsing from fear. Within thirty seconds or so she finally stops, this time going completely limp, now lifeless and drenched. Looks like another junkie overdosed in a Gotham back alley again, he muses while tenderly brushing hair out of her face.

He gets up and gathers his belongings, before squirting hand sanitizer into his palms he then enters his car and makes his way home. There are more notes to be written, his research is not complete yet. He hopes that perhaps his next batch will not be lethal. Though he wonders if that would take the fun out of it.

Probably not.

Later he turns up at Maria's apartment. Even though it's nearly eleven he still knocks at the door. Danielle is the one who answers; she greets him with little interest. She knows him as the boring and shy boyfriend of Maria, even though he's never introduced himself as that to her. There is no doubt that Maria has talked about him, wasn't it a girl thing to talk about personal affairs and brag about men they've slept with? Jonathan speculates that she's made him out to be a lot more ordinary than he actually is.

"She's in the shower right now." Her roommate comments while running a hand through her choppy indigo hair. He takes in her various piercings on her face, most likely for some absurd rebellious statement of some sort. She steps aside, "Why don't you have some tea while you wait for her?"

"Well why not?" he asks back, this time giving her a half serious look, "You're not going to poison me are you?"

Danielle gives a humourless laugh, "Caught me, psycho-boy."

"Psycho-boy?" he questions while following her into the kitchen.

"Yeah. Maria said you wanted to be a psychiatrist." She says while pouring tea into a mug.

He nods, "Mmm hmm... what do you do anyways?"

"I'm interning at the Daily Gotham Post. Hopefully I'll get hired as a writer for a column or something. You know journalist shit." She takes a sip of her blueberry tea. "So what's up with you and Maria?"

He's not really sure what she's asking.

"Well we're good. We hang out... we don't argue much. I guess we're fine." He confirms with a slight shrug.

"Cool." She replies, though it's obvious that she does not think their relationship is cool at all. Jonathan can't blame her, she has no idea how either of them work. Her phone vibrates on the counter and she picks it up to read the received text message. She then stands up abruptly, "I'm going to leave now, I've got a party to get to. Hope you kids have fun."

"Bye."

It's only a few minutes of Jonathan sitting in the kitchen drinking horribly sweetened tea. Finally he gives up and pours it down the drain, then leaving to the main hallway. He enters Maria's bedroom quietly and sits on her already made bed. The room is neat, primarily made up of a pastel cream colour scheme. There are few personal decorations, two picture frames of her family and a vase full with a slightly wilted flower arrangement. Her bed is softer than his, he lies back and melts into the comfy mattress, all while listening to her shower run from the bathroom next door, and he is reminded of rain.

Oh Leanne.

Finally the shower shuts off and he hears her footsteps approach the door. She steps in and makes a small surprised gasp. He leans back on his elbows and looks up at her, "Your flowers are dying."

Her eyes move to the vase and then back to him, "Oh. Yes, I guess they are."

There is still water on her skin from not being properly dried off; she only wears a light pink towel wrapped around her body. He gives her a small smile while patting down the free spot next to him on the mattress.

Maria always gives him space and tends to her needs, telling him once that she's too busy trying to survive this shit hole to deal with anyone else's problems right now. He wonders if she knows how she lies to herself, the way she takes care of him, drops everything she's doing with a snap of his fingers. All she thinks about it is how to stop her infatuation with him, how he's sick and out late every night. She's addicted to a man who will probably be the death of her.

She joins him on the bed, "It's nice seeing you. You don't visit often."

He slowly undoes her towel, peeling it open and placing a hand on her hip, drawing her closer to him, "I should...your bed is comfier than mine."

She giggles when he nibbles at her neck, "How was your day?"

He hesitates for a moment before answering, "Boring as usual."

"We'll have to change that." She breathes against his skin while crawling on top of him.

There isn't a single thought devoted to Leanne or rain as he fucks Maria.

When all movement ceases they are left sweaty and tangled within sheets. She has lifted her hips off of him, rolling to her side of the bed, leaving him exposed and suddenly so cold. There is tension, he feels it and hopes it's not some stupid foreshadowing of sweet nothings and affectionate bullshit. He takes his briefs from the nightstand he's folded them on; even in the seconds leading up to sex he was always a well organized man. Possibly a result of his obsessive trait, always leaving clothes colour coordinated and neatly folded or hung. He pulls them on and rests his head back on the pillow, exhausted from the busy day he's had.

Maria's soft voice cuts through the silence, "I'll do anything for you... but I need to know you're not using me."

He looks at her incredulously and asks, "Are you trying to manipulate me with sex?"

"I need to know if...if this," she motions to them both, in very compromising positions, and continues, "Is because of what you want, not what _he_ wants."

Other than to cause chaos and destruction, Jonathan wonders what exactly _he_ wants. Without further thought he throws her body against the bed, now a wild look on his face. Something inside of him has snapped, almost like he's left the door in his mind open since his little escapade with Leanne. He hovers over her and watches her serene expression, suddenly he's sickened of her cool calm and collected act.

"You want commitment?" he asks into her ear, squeezing her wrists tightly in his hands.

She tries to mask the pain, but fails miserably, "I just don't want to be used."

He is using her.

"Consider yourself privileged." He retorts, a dry grin on his face.

Maria gives him a scolding look, "Jonathan please...this hurts."

"I need you." His voice is flat; logically he needs her, unless he wants to risk finding a new subject and restarting months worth of data. But he can't afford that, not with Falcone's men constantly on his ass...not with the splitting migraines he gets from fight with _him_. He needs her.

She gasps out and he realizes that his hands have found their way to her neck, suddenly the sight of her under his grip sends him back to the memory of his shower episode months ago. He is disturbed, but also aroused. What he does not expect is for her to kick him hard in the gut. He falls off of her and lands on the floor.

"Aghhh..." He moans out. But before he can recover she's already flown off the bed and shoved her foot into his side.

"Don't fucking try that again!" She yells while grabbing her cotton robe and twisting crookedly around her body in haste. Jonathan only sees red now, his heartbeat has quickened and all he wants is blood. He pushes himself up and turns to her, almost smiling at her trembling knees.

"Am I making your knees weak, Maria?" he taunts while moving closer to her, well aware of the fact that he is still nearly naked.

Her chest is heaving, "Get out. Get out Jonathan. You're sick."

"I AM FUCKING SICK!" He roars, grabbing a lamp off of her nightstand and hurling at the opposite wall. After taking a second to clear his head he runs his hand through his hair in hopes to collect himself.

"You...you need to fight it. Fight him." She begs while backing into her dresser. "Please."

Please. Please. Please. Just like Leanne. Just like the others.

"**_I think hers is overdue Johnny."_**

"We're going to teach you some respect." He says out loud, if he could look at his reflection he would only see a blue-eyed semi nude lunatic.

With another step Maria yanks the top dresser drawer open and pulls out a small handgun. The moment almost freezes as she points it directly to his head, mere feet away from her. He is still, but the twisted smile on his face doesn't waiver. It's not the first time a gun has been pointed to his face, and it almost certainly won't be the last.

She's still quivering when he raises his hand to her in defeat, "You're not going to use that. Put it away before you hurt yourself."

"No. You need to get out." She shakes her head. "Don't think I won't. I've used this before."

"I'm scared." He says sarcastically, before asking with slight curiosity, "Who did you use it on?"

"Shut up Jonathan."

He raises an eyebrow, "Ohh why don't you tell me? How can I trust you if you won't tell me things?"

"You're not well. You're not you right now." She pleads.

"This is who I am!" He clenches his fists before continuing, "I told you that from the beginning! I didn't lie to you Maria! You can't change who I am!"

"Why not?"

He takes a step towards her, "I've been so good to you. The times when _he _told me to destroy you, I persevered. All for you. For us."

She shakes her head, her still slightly damp hair flinging from side to side. "Don't move. I'll shoot. I promise I will."

With a roll of his eyes he says, "Promises, promises dear."

With another step he hears the trigger click and half a millisecond later the gun goes off. For the first time in years he feels fear. He didn't really think she would do it, that's why when he feels the sharp sting in his shoulder he is actually caught off guard. With his opposite hand he pats the now bleeding wound. He is in disbelief; he can barely manage to say "You shot me."

Just like that, _he _is gone. Jonathan is back in control, though he is a bit ashamed things got to where they did, he doesn't apologize. Because the truth is he meant what he had said. This was who he was. He had never lied to her about that.

Maria's still recovering from the shock apparently. With graceful movement he steps to her and pulls the gun out of her shaking hands. So easy, so willing. She collapses on the floor with what he assumes is a panic attack. Anxiety. He almost feels bad. She's panting for air desperately, "I...can't...breathe..."

What a sad sight indeed.

The adrenaline from getting shot still keeps him from fully feeling the pain of the bullet lodged into his flesh. He realizes it's the effects of fright, what a marvellous thing. He puts the gun on the dresser and kneels down to her. Wrapping his good arm around her shoulder he rocks her body lightly like a mother consoling her child. "Shhhh shhhh."

Jonathan kisses her on the forehead and rubs her back until her breathing slows down. When she is alright he gets up to grab his keys on the nightstand with the rest of his belongings. After dressing himself he helps her off the floor, though she still seems to be in quite the comatose state. He takes a small towel from her closet and presses it to his shoulder and hands her his keys, "I don't think I'll be able to drive. But we need to get to the hospital."

He waits for her and watches as she fiddles with the button on her jeans as she gets dressed. After pulling a sweater on, she leads him out of her apartment door, he follows in silence. Maria says nothing on the way to the hospital, he's okay with that. Instead they listen to the radio, he hums the tune softly and within a couple minutes he finally says, "I didn't want you to see me like that. I don't know what happened."

She just bites her lip, perhaps to refrain another anxiety attack.

He accepts her non-response and continues, "You don't deserve this. I think we should stop whatever we've been doing."

They say nothing for the rest of the ride.

After being escorted through the emergency room, Jonathan finds himself being cleaned up by a doctor. The solution burns his skin, now he feels all pain that was repressed. Maria watches from a chair in the corner of the room, she has still said nothing.

While stitching him up, the doctor begins, "What happened to you both? Do we need to get police involved?"

Maria says nothing; Jonathan knows she is waiting for him to answer. So he does with great confidence, "We got mugged near Divine Street, the son of a bitch took off with her purse. She's still shaken up about it."

"My God, I'm so sorry. Do you need to get a hold of police?" the man asks with concern.

"No...We didn't get a close look at him; you know it was dark and all." He says evenly. "It's okay, we'll be okay."

He's not really sure what had compelled him to say so, especially when it obvious that they would definitely not be okay.

Due to the light pain medication he was given Maria ends up driving him back to her apartment. She doesn't say much, other than he's too drugged out to drive home, and though she shouldn't give a shit whether he ends up dead in a ditch or not, she'd feel awful if he got into an accident and hurt someone. Oh the sentiment. But it's when she tosses him a comforter and pillow in the living room a strange feeling fills him. Almost sadness.

He wearingly settles on the couch, cold and too small for his body. She's about to leave to her room, he wonders if she'll lock the door or even sleep at all. But before she goes his heart throbs again, he's not sure what's wrong with him. All he knows is that he shouldn't care, but there's still something tugging at his heart. He is growing soft.

It's like he's two different people.

"Maria...I..." he trails off, words almost lost in his throat. It's hard to think with her standing there, closed off from him. There is a sinking in his stomach; he looks away from her sad eyes and hunches over, placing his head in his hands with guilt. "I'm so sorry. I really am."

She doesn't move, but he knows she's thinking of something to say. Finally she replies, "It's too late."

When he looks up from his hands his eyes are wide like a child's with confusion, "Too late for what...to apologize? To try?"

"No." Her voice is hoarse and heavy.

The bandages on his collar bone are too tight, but he barely notices. Instead he gets up from the couch and takes her hands in his. She doesn't flinch, instead he feels the lightest brush of her thumb on his hand. They both understand now. It's too late for either of them to leave one another. He hates himself for growing attached, but at the same time she has yet to disappoint him. Sometimes when he is with her he forgets that he is sick.

She wraps her arms around him; it's a weird platonic embrace. His own limbs just stay limp at his sides, but he presses his cheek against hers. He hears her whisper, "It's too late for me to forget you."

"I know."

That's the first time they sleep together without sex involved. Jonathan holds on to her tightly, every time he hears _him _begin to awaken he just repeats her name over and over in his head. Like a mantra that will make all the bad dreams go away. He knows she won't cure him, but for now he feels at peace.

* * *

Let me know what you think!


	4. Chapter 4

**If you still want me, please forgive me,****  
****the crown of love is fallen from me.****  
****If you still want me, please forgive me,****  
****because the spark is not within me.**

**- **_**Crown of Love**_**, Arcade Fire.**

* * *

The day is so long.

Jonathan is bored out of his mind. Literally, he just might go insane. The past eight hours he had been locked away in his office, fooling around with a thesis paper that would hopefully grant him an eight month co-op at the University as a teaching assistant. Even though he's nearly certain he'll get in, because of his high scores during the entrance exams and his experience working with Dr. Joan Leland, a graduate a few years older than himself. She had caused him internal discomfort at times, the way she would shamelessly flirt about. But he was never interested in her; she had always thought she was better than the other doctors.

They're all equally as filthy.

He feels lonely. Not in a good way, but he's alone and there's no voices or shadows or anything. It's been like that for a while, about thirteen days. It's not that he doesn't appreciate the silence, but he's not used to it. And along with the lack of...guests, Jonathan hasn't played around with his toxin either. He's not inspired at the moment. Lately all he can think about are almond shaped heavy brown eyes and the way Maria's cupid bow stretches when she smiles. He always enjoyed her mouth.

The little gun incident had happened about three weeks ago. It was strange how things fell back into routine, though some things weren't quite the same after. There was change. He hadn't touched Maria intimately since then; he couldn't bring himself to even try. There was guilt that he wasn't accustomed to feeling. It made him feel worse when she had just accepted him, the way told him that she knew who he was and would stay so she could always remind him.

She didn't know at all really.

But still he nodded and swallowed his pride. A week later they had just sat in a coffee shop and talked about films and music. It was strange; they were still quiet with each other, but he didn't mind. And he had never talked about things he really liked, even with her. Before the fight it was almost as if they had been both studying one another, interested in only the topics of mental health and sex. And while the conversation went from The Cure to why he wore glasses as opposed to contacts, Jonathan realized _he_ hadn't said anything the whole time. Maybe it was the way Maria focused on everything but his inner conflicts, how she quickly paved over the incident, but when he was around her he felt better. She said that it would be wonderful if they could still work on their friendship, code for wanting to distance herself from him. It sickened him to know that he hadn't heard from her since then. He had manipulated her feelings once before, so there was no obstacle he couldn't overcome.

But he feared that perhaps the relationship between them had become platonic. Not that it would be an entirely bad thing, as he would never become obsessed with sex and women, it just wasn't his style. But on the other hand, sex was really nice, especially with her.

He has an entire notebook devoted to his thoughts and observations on her. Maria's reactions to his psychological influence, concerning the predictability of her choices and the way she acted towards to certain gestures. At first it was for his experiments, but now he continues to just understand her. She is simple in many ways, afraid of trivial things such as getting older and heights, and complex in others, with her ethics and morals. Always so idealistic and pure. He's intrigued as to why she still stays with him.

It's nearly night when he finishes off his late dinner, and yet still nothing catches his interest. There is nothing worth watching on the television and he's sick of reading, even for pleasure. He lingers around his house, feeling uncomfortable and homely like he always does. Jonathan ponders the notion of getting a pet, maybe then he would have something to do. He likes the idea of taking care of something that doesn't require emotional investment, and wouldn't mind jogging every morning with a big dog at his side. Even a cat that would just lie around his house, there was a fondness that came with little animals that made sounds when they were happy. He feels really stupid and unlike himself when he mauls over the thoughts of a pet.

Finally shakes himself out of it and reaches for his cell phone on the coffee table. He's not big into texting but once in a while there seems to be a time and place for it. There are only seventeen contacts in his phone. Eleven he probably hasn't used in the past two years, two of them are his favourite restaurants that deliver and the rest are his peers that he has at one point been involved working with. And then there's Maria Rose Blaire. He reads her name twice before scrolling to it. There is little thought that goes into the text he sends her, he's not one to over think and sugar coat everything.

Instead he sends a simple, "Are you busy?"

It's a Friday night, so maybe she is. He doesn't really bother her on the weekends, usually it's the only time he has to his research and himself. Maybe he's being needy, but there's something about her, about the way she doesn't see him as some bizarre emotional cripple. The way she kisses him and takes his hand when they're just waiting for the city bus or watching a stupid horror movie. In the moments leading up to a reply there is tension in his chest, sickness almost. She's infected him with laughter and efforts, he is romanced and for once he is definitely open to such an unfamiliar feeling.

About two minutes go by before he receives an answer with the sound the cellular device vibrating on the table. It's from Maria; he reads it with a small hope of her availability, "Danielle's having a party at the apartment. I'm afraid to leave or someone might sneak into my bedroom."

He smiles and types back automatically, "Someone other than me?"

But then Jonathan hesitates, his thumb brushing along the small send button. A chill runs down his spine and he just stares blankly at the phone before erasing the message and typing a new one. What a stupid notion, to get wrapped up in the in his false impression of normality. He hates the man that controls him, but he's used to being looked out for. They are a team after all.

His new reply is cold and guarded. He sends three indifferent words, "That sounds fun."

Frustration. He hates himself.

He sinks into his couch miserably, now the feeling of butterflies and romance diminished by melancholic woe. After tossing his phone on the cushion next to him he takes the remote and turns on the TV, with no intention of actually watching anything. The room is cool; he just wears a grey shirt that's a bit too big for him and old jeans. The hairs on his arms stick up, contrasting along his pale skin. His flesh is smooth, but sometimes he sees scabs and cuts and infected wounds covering his body. Almost as if he is a leper, ready to be cast out from society. The only difference being it's not the physical that is contaminated with disease, and instead of decaying limbs it's just his state of mind.

God, he just hates himself.

He looks back to the phone, no response. Then something sticking out from the corner of the couch catches his eye. It looks like a piece of black material or some sort. He reaches over and picks the cloth out from the underneath the cushion seat. He pinches the fabric between his the padding of his thumb and index finger, lace and slightly transparent. A simple bra; practical but still feminine. Jonathan remembers when he had taken it off of her. There is still the faint scent of her perfume, the one that reminds him of mild jasmine and sandalwood. Jonathan holds it carefully in his hand and wonders if maybe this is all he has left of that chapter of his life. He lets go and the undergarment fall to his side, pulling his hand to his face he runs his fingers through his hair. There's a part of him that hopes he's imagining the wetness he feels from his own eye. Not tears, but sentiment built up and ready to overflow.

His phone buzzes and he rubs at his face with his palm. He doesn't really want to read her reply, anticipating something like an excuse not to talk. But checks the screen anyways, the corners of his lips twitch upwards at the sight of the short message.

"It would be more fun if you were here."

His heart stops in his chest. He clicks away at the small keyboard, "I'll see you soon then."

Jonathan makes sure to take his medication before leaving.

He arrives at her apartment complex at around ten, having taken the time to shower and wear something that didn't make him look homeless. He's always taken pride in the way he's dressed, professional and pristine. So Jonathan wears a crisp white dress shirt and dark washed jeans. He rolls the sleeves up to his elbows and puts on a simple black leather watch. Today he needs to make a good impression; he needs to drag Maria back into his life.

After being buzzed in by someone named Todd, Jonathan takes the stairs and reaches her apartment door, 5B. The door is unlocked so slips inside, an uncomfortable nausea returning as he realizes that last time he was here was when he had been shot. There are a bit more twenty people in the small living space, most of them look like pretentious social science majors or art students that Jonathan isn't so fond of. Mostly Danielle's crew, though he recognizes a few of Maria's friends intermingled with the crowd. About six women are huddled in the kitchen mixing drinks and being obnoxious, while ten people are in the living room sitting on the couches and trying to talk over what sounds like The Shins, or just standing around the stereo system and trying to sway to the beat of the music. Others are floating around, scattered amongst people, trying to be accepted. He sees people out on the balcony, a few of them having a smoke.

He'll find Maria later. Right now it's about blending in and being normal.

He steps towards the kitchen island and gives a casual wave to one of the girls he's met through Maria. She raises her eyebrows and approaches him, "I didn't pin you for a party kind of guy."

"Is that what this is?" he smirks and places his hands in his pockets casually.

Valerie licks her red tinted lips and smiles, "You're funny. Why doesn't Maria bring you out more?"

He shrugs, "I'm usually busy with my studies."

"You know all work and no play make Johnny a dull boy." She purrs before taking a sip of whatever is in her cup.

He almost grimaces at the obvious seduction she's trying to pull, it's a bit pathetic and he feels bad for Maria for having such slutty friends. He also thinks it's strange that women are all of a sudden attracted to him; maybe he just hadn't noticed it before. The dip of her black dress is deep enough where he can get an eye full of her cleavage, and the material ends about three inches above her knees. She wears matching black stilettos; kind of girl guys are crazy for. He still doesn't understand the appeal, and all he wants to do is call her a whore and leave.

He chews the inside of his cheek and asks, "What are you drinking?"

Valerie looks to her own cup as if trying to remember, "Rum and coke. Would you like one?"

He nods, "Yeah. Why not?"

"Alright Jon." She says smoothly as if they've been married for twenty years and turns to make his drink; he doesn't fail to notice her chat with her friends as the look in his direction. When she returns with it he gives her a forced smile and takes a drink.

"Thank you Erin." He says before leaving with the cup in his hand. He's tempted to turn back and see the expression of anger and humiliation on her face, but instead makes his way to the balcony with a small grin on his face.

He opens the screen door and sees about three guys and girl standing outside all enjoying their respective cigarettes. Closing the door behind him he places his cup the arm of a used patio chair and inhales the crisp air and smell of tobacco.

A man with a small beard and buzz cut hair turns to him, "You smoke?"

"Now and then." He replies.

The guy fishes a cigarette out from his pack and hands it to Jonathan along with a silver Zippo. He accepts it and puts the small stick to his mouth, lighting it as he hands him back the lighter. He takes a short drag, "Thanks."

Is it normal for people to share their drinks and smokes with total strangers? Should he be accustomed to people just being nice?

They smoke outside for about twenty minutes, each of them introduce themselves and talk about their careers or studies. Jonathan is probably the youngest, but not by much. He's pretty sure Micah and Noel have a something going on. With the way she touches his arm when she tells a story of how she had met him in second year of college. He scratches the back of his shaven head and calls her a mooch who lost all of his notes. Noel is tall, she's like 5'10 and wearing ballet style flats. She's also really thin, Jonathan wonders if she's ever done modeling, though she has very eccentric facial features. Her cheek bones are high and her eyes look permanently squinted but nice. Later on she tells him that her father is Chinese and of course wanted her to study health sciences. Her mother had encouraged her to stick with Poli-Sci.

"So Jon what do even do?" Darren asks while taking a drink. Darren works for his dad's construction company, Jonathan assumes he's richer than he looks. But he's also stated that he's trying to get some gigs for the band he's in. He plays bass, of course.

Jonathan's rum and coke is nearly done, "I'm studying psych, and hopefully I can get a teaching job or work at the Asylum."

"You want to work with the criminally insane? Fuck man, good luck." Darren laughs lightly.

He sucks again from his cigarette and smiles, "Well someone's got to. And I'm the perfect guy for it."

"Why's that?" Noel asks.

"Because I'm just as crazy as they are." He grins.

Micah nods and flicks his cigarette off the railing, "Aren't we all..."

He spends a little longer talking with the three, he realizes if he were the kind of person for friends that he wouldn't mind recruiting these guys. Darren tells him to come out on the 16th for a gig at The Eclipse (an infamous bar in the Narrows), Jonathan says he'll think about it out of politeness. Eventually they all decide to grab something to eat at the 24-Hour diner two blocks from the apartment, Jonathan declines the invite and heads back inside. Around twelve, he finds himself waiting outside the bathroom to take a piss.

"Jonathan!" he hears his name called.

He turns to see Maria wearing an off the shoulder navy blue shirt and tight black jeans. Her bare skin makes his face heat up. It's been a while.

She walks over to him, "I didn't even see you!"

"I was outside having a smoke with your friends." He replies. "You know Micah, Noel and Darren?"

She nods, "Yeah, yeah they're great."

He doesn't miss the way she stares at him, getting her back will be so easy.

"Jonathan...I think..." she begins, but is unfortunately cut off by the washroom door opening up and a guy walking out.

He looks over at Jonathan, "All yours."

Jonathan gives Maria an apologetic look, "Give me a minute, Maria."

She bites her lip, "Alright."

He enters the washroom and locks the door. It's when he looks into the mirror he notices that he's started breathing a bit heavier, he takes a few deep inhales to slow his heartbeat. After washing his face with cold water he pats a beige towel against his wet skin. When he pulls the towel away he sees maggots crawling in the threads.

He drops it and gasps, "No. Not now."

He knows they're not real. It's the mix of drinking, smoking and being around more people than he's used to.

After picking up the towel and placing it on the rack, he tries to calm himself down by closing his eyes to think about Maria's shoulder blades. He breathes in and out slowly. About forty seven seconds later he lifts the seat of the toilet to relieve himself. After flushing and washing up he leaves the bathroom and is disappointed when he sees that Maria is gone. He goes back to the living room to see her standing next to a bookshelf talking to a guy wavy brown hair and a body resembles the types of guys that used to pick on Jonathan during high school. He's wearing a red shirt about a size too small and faded ripped jeans. Jonathan decides that he hates him then.

That's too bad for the guy; he had his whole life ahead of him.

"_**You wanna pull up a chair while you watch him continue to fuck her with his eyes?" **_

"_Well you're the reason I have to play Mr. Nice Guy all night." _Jonathan says inwardly. _"What do you care? You don't even like her."_

"_**I don't like sharing my toys even more."**_

"_Me neither."_

The best way to label the emotion he feels right now is aggravation. Because he's irritated with this guys who happens to be tucking a lock of hair in front of Maria's face behind her ear, she doesn't look to happy about it. He's also annoyed because he almost feels jealous, no not quite jealous. Because that would mean he would have a reason to covet, and that would be stupid with Maria already belonging to him.

He walks over to the punch bowl and fills to cups with whatever the combination of fruity mixture has been spiked with. Then he makes his way across the room and clears his throat, "I hope I'm not interrupting."

The guy rolls his eyes, "Actually you are."

Jonathan shrugs and offers Maria the cup, to which she takes with a small smile. He introduces himself, "Hi. Jonathan Crane."

"Max Stewart."

Jonathan takes a sip from his cup, "You must be a friend of Danielle's."

"Actually I'm a friend of Maria's. We have a bit of history." He says with a smirk, Maria looks even more uncomfortable. Max continues, "She hasn't even mentioned you before. Shame."

Jonathan lets his hand rest on Maria's bare shoulder and gives a fake smile, "Well Maria does like to keep her relationships away from unwanted attention." He pretends not to notice her tensed body relax from under his touch, but on the inside he's grinning like a lunatic.

Max appears to be angry, good the plan is going well. He grits out, "We were talking."

Jonathan shrugs with faux ignorance, "And now you're not. It's been a pleasure Max."

He leads Maria away from the now fuming Max Stewart. Jonathan is happy Max didn't respond in violence, he didn't even bring his toxin. But he's sure that he'll get his time with him soon enough.

They stand at the front door and Maria looks amused, he's not sure if he likes that. Finding himself now holding her by the waist; he removes his hand from her. Taking a step back he slightly puckers his lips in thought, "Your friend's an asshole."

"Yep, we dated a couple years ago and he's never really given up on trying to bed me." She agrees, not knowing how she has just guaranteed Max's gruesome death. She continues, "But I can usually handle myself around guys like that."

Jonathan leans against the wall, "I can't. Luckily you were there."

He's serious.

She laughs, "Thanks for containing yourself."

He runs his fingers through his hair again, "You should ditch this lame party."

"Should I?" she asks back with a smile playing at her lips.

Usually he's up for games, but it's late and Jonathan is tired from smiling all night with people he couldn't care less about. So instead he caresses her cheek and orders, "Come over tonight."

Maria's smile disappears, "Jonathan...we shouldn't..."

"Why not?" he questions softly, he hides his agitation well. She can tease him, but can't pay for the repercussions of her actions. "I know you'll never find someone who can make you feel the way I do."

She raises an eyebrow, "That's an awfully confident thing to say."

"It is. But if you can tell me you won't spend the rest of your life comparing every other man to me then I'll take it back." He states coolly.

She doesn't say anything for a moment, and then finally replies with a small pout, "That's not fair."

He lightly takes her chin in his hand, "I think it is fair, because I feel the exact same way about you."

He sees her resolve diminish in front his eyes.

"How do I know..." her voice trails off, but Jonathan already can read her mind.

"You don't." He answers calmly, pausing to collect his thoughts, "I would never hurt you if I had the choice."

She shakes her head, "I don't know if that's good enough."

"Yes you do."

Somehow they wind up at his house. He's not even drunk, so he doesn't feel bad about driving. He turns the TV on as they enter the living room and picks out a random DVD and plays it while making popcorn in the kitchen. The film has something to do with two brothers looking for their parents during a spiritually enlightening trip throughout Brazil. He's not really sure when he bought it, probably from a film festival he had gone to a couple years back. Maria is seated on the couch when he returns with a large bowl of popcorn. Her legs are tucked underneath her, and she's cuddled to the corner. He freezes when she holds out the bra he had found earlier.

"This is mine." She says with an unreadable tone in her voice.

He feels embarrassed, not a usual feeling for him to experience. Jonathan places the bowl on the coffee table and sits on the couch, taking the bra from her he pretends to analyze it, "Hmm...Are you sure? I was nearly certain I bought one just like this."

He sees her try to hide her smile, "Jonathan, I'm serious."

After setting it next to the popcorn he turns to her, "I found it stuffed in the corner of the couch, right where you're sitting actually. I was going to return it, that's why I texted you."

"So why didn't you bring it?" she asks pointedly.

He pops a kernel into his mouth, "I forgot, obviously."

"Obviously." She repeats.

They watch the movie in silence, with the exception of the sound of crunching from the salted snack. Jonathan's not really interested in the movie; he can tell Maria isn't really either. So he grabs a handful of popcorn and says, "So how come things didn't work out with this Max character?"

She seems shocked at the question, but explains anyways, "We went to high school together and he wasn't really into me until our senior year. Probably because I stopped being awkward looking."

Jonathan just nods and offers her some kernels. She accepts and continues, "I guess we started dating at the end of the year and about half way into the summer I realized he didn't really care about anything that I did. So I told him that we should just see other people and he wasn't used to getting dumped. It's a cliché breakup."

He snorts, "It took you months to figure out that guy is a total moron? Come on Maria, it took me four seconds."

She smiles, "I think you're jealous."

"I don't think I have a reason to be." He retorts cockily.

"Again with the ego." Maria says with a roll of her eyes.

Jonathan looks her square in the face with a serious expression, "You're mine, because we both want you to be."

"That's a brave statement."

He licks his lips, "I've been feeling quite courageous today."

As quickly as he ends his sentence his lips are already on hers. The kiss is soft, but when he feels her hands against his chest and linking around his neck, it deepens. Their mouths open and he pulls at her bottom lip and slides his tongue into her mouth. They kiss for about two minutes, before the uncomfortable position of Maria sitting on her legs and Jonathan still seating straight toward the TV with his torso turned towards her begin to bother them. They break apart and Maria is breathless.

There is nothing to say.

He moves so now his knee is pressed into the couch and he's steadied with his foot on the ground. He kisses her again and at the same time unbuttons his shirt. He stops when she stares at the stitches covering the bullet wound on his shoulder. When she's just about to apologize he kisses her instead. She understands and unzips her jeans in an attempt to pull them off. He removes her shirt and stares and her barely clothed body, clad in a matching frilly white bra and panty set.

He snaps the elastic of her underwear against her skin, "Looks like you're dressed to impress."

She wraps her legs around his still jean covered waist and grinds against him, "Shut up."

He almost groans, but then removes his pants as well. Quickly they strip off their underwear and his trembling hands touch and squeeze roughly at her body. She gives little moans before taking him in her hand. But he pulls away and instead kisses her forehead. Then he takes her legs and hoists it on his shoulders. Jonathan moves down until his face is in between her thighs and uses one hand to hold her ass tightly so she doesn't buck off and another to insert a finger inside of her. Jonathan licks her and sucks and rubs his mouth on her flesh. He takes her nub into his mouth and swirls his tongue around it as he pushes another finger inside. Every muscle he plays with is pulsing from around his fingers. Her screams are music to his ears.

So different than the kind he's used to.

After they are done he puts back on his underwear and yawns. "Bed time."

"Looks like you're all tired out." Maria jokes softly.

He takes her hand and helps her up, "Well it's nearly two in the morning."

"Sure." She smiles while collecting her clothes.

He shuts off the TV and they go upstairs to his bedroom. When she's finished washing her face he hands her a shirt to sleep in and then retreats to his side of the bed. Maria crawls in after him and sighs into a pillow.

"Goodnight Jonathan."

She expects to hear "Goodnight Maria." But she is surprised when his arm wraps around her waist and pulls him towards her to sleep. She feels his breath in her ear, "Move in with me."

She's awake now, "Excuse me?"

He doesn't open his eyes, "Say yes. You would much rather come here anyways, words from your mouth not mine."

She's at a loss for words, "But...but we've only...been together for like eight months."

"And what a marvelous eight months it has been." He peeks one cerulean eye open with a crooked smile.

Maria swats him on the arm, "This is ridiculous! I mean...why? Shouldn't we wait?"

He sighs and nuzzles his nose into her neck, "Wait for what? Isn't this what people like us do?"

She pushes him off of her lightly. Her expression is pained, not how he had thought it would be. Of course he expected some fight, but nothing like the hurt she exhibited. She sits up and swings her legs off the side of the bed.

"Jonathan, I don't think you understand what you mean by people like us." She says with hunched shoulders.

He rolls over and his fingers find hers, "You mean people in love, Maria?"

"What?" she asks quickly.

"Obviously we are." He states. "Logically it's the only thing that could possibly make sense. I am stricken by foolish and unreasoning fondness for you. And I have no interest in affection for anyone else."

She turns to him with moony eyes and smiles, "Obviously."

He stretches and falls on his back, leaving his arm open leaving a perfect space for her to fit into. She follows and lays back down, pressing her cold toes against his calves like usual. He gives her an expectant look, "Soo?"

"It only makes sense." She giggles into his shoulder.

"Of course it does."

How easy it is to capture the heart of a young woman.

She is his now.

* * *

Thanks for reading lovelies!


	5. Chapter 5

**We all have dreams in our heads, words in our mouths.  
Stories on our skin and ghosts in our hearts.  
We are little haunted houses.  
Dreaming. Dreaming. Dreaming.**

**- Anonymous -**

* * *

Jonathan has a soft spot for classics. He is a collector of vinyl; the storage underneath the stairs is stacked with boxes of books and records. It's one of those things he just does with no second thought. Sometimes he will have just enough money in his pocket for lunch but becomes captivated with album covers and creative band names. It's just a hobby of his, one he can actually talk about.

He is also a collector of newspaper articles related to homicide from all over the United States in the past sixty years or so. But that usually stays boxed up and stashed away in his storage. He just loves a good read and motivation to his own work.

One day it hits him, while seated on a large stage hardly listening to one of his peers give a half assed speech about how graduating is a major life experience to be shared with loved ones. He watches parents cry and applaud. But Jonathan doesn't think at all of the graduation during the ceremony, he instead recalls an article he's recently read. It was on the topic of Thursten Ore and his life as an infamous serial killer. He had been convicted and executed in the early 50's, but not before promising that his legacy would live on and that he had accepted his death, knowing that those who put him away would soon be next. A woman named Madison Goldstein, who was a part of the jury, killed herself shortly after that statement.

Fear is power after all.

So he stands when is called to receive his diploma and rises with the rest of his class when it's over. Cheers are heard and embraces are made. He feels sad for all these people, because it is most likely that their lives are going to end in ruins. He thinks about how usual it is for people to just float through life without any recognition of real fear.

Afterwards he is met by Maria at the punch bowl, who had kindly sat through the past three hours of bullshit he had been a part of. As soon as the ceremony ended he just wanted to go home and sleep. Her moony eyes sicken him, the way she holds him on some false pedestal. As he approaches his insides twist and turn, he is reminded that his time is running out. She is beautiful, and sometimes he questions whether or not he really desires to see her wither away from fear. When they meet she hugs him tightly, a public display that he hasn't really approached. He pats her back casually and pulls away.

"I need to get out of this thing." He tugs at the black gown he's wearing and feels ridiculous and if it wasn't for her pestering he would have just skipped the event all together. But he is can't seem to find anger when he looks at her, the way she seems to be swallowed up by the fabric of her dress appeals to him. She has lost weight in the past couple months, her cheekbones are sunken in and wrists are bonier than usual. Perhaps he should be concerned.

She gives a small, slightly forced smile and takes his hand, breaking his train of thought, "A little eager are we?"

"I've got places to go, I'm important now. The paper says so."

"I only have a year left and I can join you in the adult world." Her sentence ends with a hollow laugh. He's noticed that she's fallen into a rut of constant thoughts of self-loathing and dissatisfaction. There's been nothing to say about it; instead he carries on with his work, okay to leave her to deal with her own demons.

He's about to reply when he feels a tap on his shoulder. Turning around he sees Micah, Noel and Darren well dressed and beaming. The trio have been a bit more consistent in his life since the party a few months ago. He's made an effort to become a part of the group to relax Maria and keep off any suspicions.

Micah grins, "Heard it was your big day from Maria and we decided to take you guys out for dinner. Won't take no for an answer."

Jonathan wants to sleep, but he knows it can wait.

"Alright."

Later Darren leads them to a newer restaurant in the good side of Gotham. Everything is way more than Jonathan can afford, he can tell within two seconds of walking into the building. There are socialites seated everywhere, all wearing clean suits and revealing dresses. He recognizes Penelope Lacosta sitting with a party of six; she's a beautiful woman who lived off of the riches of her grandfather's hard work engineering the main bridge of Gotham. Apparently now she handles finances and works on a board on some enterprise company.

A hostess approaches the group, with an almost condescending flicker in her eyes she asks, "I'm sorry do you have reservations? Otherwise we're booked for the night."

Darren grins sheepishly, "Yeah under Darren Daggett."

She looks surprised, but smiles politely, "Oh yes, of course Mister Daggett. Right this way."

"Thanks love." Darren gives a bright smile.

They are all seated at a table in the corner, when everyone settles in Micah looks at Darren, "It's like you're a werewolf, but instead of turning into a hideous wolf man every full moon you turn into a millionaire asshole."

Darren just laughs, and then turns when he catches the glimpse of someone being seated, "Speaking of millionaire assholes."

Noel looks in the direction that Darren is looking at and points out in a hushed whisper, "Check it out! It's Bruce Wayne."

"Actually I think you meant billionaire orphan." Maria adds softly, Jonathan doesn't like the way she so casually corrects about him, almost as if she is defending his title as disgustingly rich. He raises a brow at her, but he is not at all interested at all in Bruce Wayne right now. He just fiddles with his fork gracefully and slips his other hand unto Maria's thigh, an action hidden by the long table cloth. The group talks for a couple minutes about the infamous young businessman, Noel seems to know about at least five women he's dated or at least slept with. There is envy underlining the words said by the others, Jonathan himself feels irritation and wonders what Bruce's greatest fears are. Jonathan's not jealous, just curious.

Finally a waiter comes to the table and takes their drinks; as soon as he leaves Micah turns his attention to Jonathan. "So what are the plans now that you're done?"

"I'm going to start an internship at the University actually. I'll be working for one of my older teachers as a TA." Jonathan answers; unbeknown to anyone else his fingers are still skimming the hem of Maria's dress. She tries to swat his hand away several times, he refrains from smiling at the flushed look on her face. He is persistent and loves to provoke.

Noel cuts in, "That's great Jonathan! I know you'll do fine there, you really seem like the kind of person who can teach others."

He pushes his glasses back up his nose, "Thank you Noel."

Noel would be surprised to learn that he has fixated his fear toxin into a gas form and almost decided on gassing the entire auditorium. But Jonathan was a firm believer in starting off small and working your way up.

The night goes on, Jonathan makes the occasional quip during the conversation, but mostly he sticks to his medium rare steak and vegetables. Maria is quiet as well; she's been a bit off as of late. He wonders if it has to do with moving in with him, though he's sure he's done his best to make her happy. Part of him is sure it's just another down of her inconsistent moods, he is patient with depression. He is a man who understands what it's like to feel nothing.

He almost feels bad.

After they're done their meal Darren generously takes up the bill and leaves a nice tip. Jonathan isn't to upset with this whole new persona of having friends. They make their way to the parking lot and to each respective car; he isn't really paying attention to whatever they're talking about. He's just thinking about kissing and caressing and sweat.

"Jonathan?" Micah repeats loudly. He perks up and turns his gaze from the brick wall of the building to the bearded man. Micah scratches at the back of his head, a habit that Jonathan has noted. "Do you want to go out to a bar with Darren and I? We're going to watch the game tonight."

Absolutely not. He's spent enough time playing smiley faces for the day.

He shrugs, "I don't think so... I mean I don't want to intrude and I have wor-"

Darren interrupts, "Aw man, you met a few of the guys at Danielle's party a while ago. You know Scott, Josh, Cory and Max right?"

Max. Jonathan remembers the mental note he had left about him just months ago. Suddenly any later plans seen to be pushed back, he is interested now.

Maria even pokes him in the side and smiles sweetly, "You should go. You'll have fun."

Jonathan feels a spark go through his body, he's excited and giddy. So he bits his lip, pretending to consider his options and then replies, "You know what, I think I'm going to go home and pick some things up, but I'll meet you guys there."

The night's just begun.

The bar is dark and sleek. It's a newer addiction to Gotham, its theme is modern and the lights are dim. A local band plays on a stage at the back while others sit on tall stools and drink and waste away. After sitting at a table Micah orders beers and the guys listen to the droning sound of angst ridden singing guitarist. The band sounds mediocre, though the lead guitarist has potential. But Jonathan doesn't bother to listen; instead he observes the area, searching for a certain man.

Finally Max walks in with his usual posse. By now Jonathan is standing off by the stage, pretending to enjoy a cover of some Sonic Youth song he had used to listen to all the time. A woman tries to strike up conversation with Jonathan, but he's busy and doesn't pay her much mind.

"So do you come here often?" she asks in a sultry tone, but Jonathan just groans inwardly and takes a sip from his bottle.

He looks at the girl and takes her in, she is average looking and her eye makeup is slightly smeared. But her lips are large and he assumes that every man who sees them is just sexualized with the thought of her smile. But he's here for someone else, as much as he would love to hear a scream from that pretty mouth.

Jonathan purses his lips, "I'm really not interested. Sorry you've wasted the last minute and a half trying to make small talk with me, but I'm sure that there are other people who would gladly pretend to care how you know the bass player and why you're drinking a vodka tonic."

She gives him a disgusted look before flicking her hair in annoyance, "Whatever man."

As soon as she leaves him, Jonathan looks to see Max standing from his bar stool and making way to the washrooms. He takes another drink of his beer and places it on a table as he walks after him. There is one other person at the sink, head down and rinsing soap off of his palms. Jonathan stands at the wall parallel to the urinals, pretending to text as the man dries his hands. Max is standing at a urinal in the middle of a half drunken piss.

It's just too easy.

When the other man leaves the bathroom, Jonathan reaches over and locks the door with a click.

"The band sounds good."

Max zips up his pants and turns around, "Yeah fuck man, they're okay.."

When Max starts washing his hands it sinks into him that it is actually Jonathan leaning against the black marble counter tops. His face changes to be intimidating and tough, "Aren't you the guy from Maria's party?"

Jonathan licks his lips and his crosses his arms, almost in an expectant manner. "Yes. You are correct."

Max's face turns red, "You must be stupid to come in here with that smug little grin on your face. I'll have to teach you a lesson."

"You will?" Jonathan asks in mockery. He then steps towards the much larger man with a thoughtful look, "Would you like to see my mask first?"

With that Jonathan swings a fist and hits Max in the jaw, causing him to lose footing and slip on the floor. Max crashes on his back crumpled up next to an empty stall. As he pushes himself up Jonathan has already reached into his coat and pulled out a burlap sack. He pulls the mask over his head and now stands in the dimly lit washroom looking similarly like a well-dressed scarecrow.

"You're fucking crazy. I'm going to beat the shit out of your scarecrow ass." Max snarls, pushing off the metal wall and reaching for Jonathan's neck. He manages to take a hold of Jonathan's shirt and then throws him against a stone wall. Max cracks his knuckles with a snare, "I almost feel bad for having to fuck up such a small guy."

But then a "click" is heard, followed by a hiss of releasing air.

And a voice that is too low and sinister to be Jonathan's, Max hears, _**"What do you fear Max?"**_

Jonathan isn't sure what Max is experiencing, he knows that every individual reacts differently and sees altered things. So when Max starts to cough and wheeze while clawing at his own throat, Jonathan just takes a step forwards and observes.

"Keep struggling. The toxin will react quicker that way." Jonathan advises calmly. He gets up and steps towards Max, "You need to understand that I'm doing this because I can, not because you've fucked Maria."

Panic arises and Max just inhales more and more toxin, his gasping becoming heavier and heavier. He sinks to the ground and starts to strangle himself. Through his eyes he can see thorny vines crawling out from the scarecrow's mouth and corners of the room. He would beg and scream to remove the vines coming out of his very mouth.

Max just gags and salivates, "Grrrbbbbll...scarreegggelll.."

"_**You're mine now."**_

A knock on the bathroom door interrupts Jonathan's enjoyment, so carefully he steps around the trembling man and towards the only window in the bathroom. After snapping on some rubber gloves he's previously placed in his pocket, Jonathan unlocks the window, sliding the glass up and crawling out onto the back alley of the bar. He closes it behind him, pulls the mask off his head and stuffs it back into his coat. After disposing of his gloves into a nearby dumpster, he runs a hand through his hair and leaves towards the parking lot.

What a lovely evening.

The metal tinkling of jingling keys cut through the graveyard like silence. He lets them dangle lazily from his fingers before inserting them into the lock of his front door. The small home is dark; Jonathan assumes Maria is sleeping. It's nearly one in the morning after all.

So he locks back the door, shaking the knob three times in a row, always making sure that his home is secure. The neighbourhood is shady, but it's all he can afford. Lately his cheques are barely cutting it, with finishing his co-op and drowning in student loans he'll probably never pay off. Maria waitresses now, but their money manages to drain out quicker than he thought it could. But right now Jonathan is too happy to even think about his financial debts, for his night turned out to be wonderful.

He opens the storage door and kneels down to the wood paneling of his floor. Carefully he lifts a loose panel from a chipped corner and removes a cut out of the floor to reveal a small space full of books and journals full of notes on his own experiments. There is also a black briefcase which contains several vials of his newer concentrate of toxin. Jonathan gives a small proud smile to his life's work and places the burlap sack into the space. He places everything back to where it's supposed to be and gives a light sigh.

After a glass of water he cautiously trudges up the rickety stairs, and wearily makes his way to his bedroom. The door is slightly ajar; he can see the flickering light of the television still on. She told him that she had always subscribed to the irrational fear of darkness, ever since she was a little girl. So he enters quietly, leaving his shoes next to the dresser and untangling the mess of his tie. He finds his reflection in the mirror at the corner of his eye, he looks sickly almost. Pale and withered away.

Very soon his clothing is stripped away and he is standing in nothing but his underwear. He mechanically slips into the bed, careful not to disturb the sleeping woman. _He_ would say that he's getting soft, but Jonathan justifies himself with simple reasoning, that it's only polite. His efforts are in vain though, because she stirs and moves over to give him more room to lie.

"Jonathan?" She gives a tired yawn; his name on her lips is a comfortable call.

He wraps an arm around her waist and pulls her closer to him, his legs now intertwining with hers. He ignores the inner taunt and whispers, "It's okay, go to sleep."

"I thought you'd be out longer." She is soft, and curls her body into his, head nuzzled into the croon of his neck, he almost smiles into her dark curls. "Micah and Darren really wanted to spend some time getting to know you.

"I was getting tired of them and the noise. " His voice is not apologetic, only facts. He knows she can't sleep well on her own, but he doesn't feel guilty. He hasn't made her any promises of the sort, to tuck her in every night, to love on her dotingly. He murmurs into her hair, "You have to learn to stop being so afraid."

Her skin is hot on his; he can recognize the fabric of the satin peach night dress she likes to wear. It's funny; he knows that she has a liking for the little piece of negligee because he had once commented on the colour. Not a direct compliment, but he made sure to let her know he noticed. It had been mostly experimental, a little nudge into manipulation. Maria was so easy the fun had worn off. So naive and eager to please, he could have anything from her.

The timing is wonderful when she ends his thoughts by replying, "I'm not afraid of anything."

She is a fool. But she is his fool.

The Scarecrow's voice pierces Jonathan's mind, like a knife. _**"She has no fear of us."**_

"_In good time."_ He thinks.

His fingers crawl underneath the short night gown and she squirms from his cold touch. He traces over her hips lightly, in a way that she'll wake up tomorrow and wonder if it were a dream. And then he pulls away, his experiments never ending, and his glee in twisting Maria's mind with nearly no effort.

He expects her to be tired and to scold him like a little boy. He can predict her voice, the giggle she will try to suppress, the way she will say no but how her hips will softly grind his own. She is coy in her ways, between the both of them he wonders exactly how sex is initiated. Sometimes it just happens. Spontaneously and violently, she forces him to stop being so calculated for even just a moment, and she rides him until he either gives in to his own orgasm, or until he takes control. That's one thing he can always say he's liked about her.

He almost dozes off when he feels her nails rake against his pelvic bone. The way she makes her way down to his neatly trimmed pubic hair makes his hips buckle. Soon her wandering fingers find his slightly twitching member beneath the thin cotton polyester mix of his briefs. She takes him into her warm palms and slides up and down, pushing into that one spot at the base of his semi erect penis. He is surprised, so he rewards her.

The experience is hardly erotic anymore; it's almost a duty he has to fulfil. And in a way he is content, cheap thrills of fucking theatrically don't really do it for him anymore. Instead he opts to gentle slow thrusts, an easy push as slowly as he can without his own body trembling in pleasure. And then a slow pull out, as torture almost, his favourite sound is the whine she emits at that moment. Within the sweat they manage to both come wordlessly in unison and in no time they are both rested in bed, her back turned to him and him lying like a corpse. Their games are done; there is no need for post cuddling. He doesn't worry, because they're beyond the insecurities of being used by one another.

"I love you." She murmurs into her pillow.

Still he is shocked and unsure of what he should say. So instead tries to clarify and misunderstanding that he might have. His hand finds hers underneath the sheets and he squeezes her palm gently. "Are you sure?"

She reciprocates the applied pressure to his hand, "Yes. Don't you think that's what people say when they're in love?"

It's the first time she's said it. She doesn't love him though. He has just made her think that she has. _He_ warns him that it is a dangerous slope to substitute manipulating someone into love instead of fear. But Jonathan is curious in his own trials.

"I suppose so." And with that he lets her fall into sleep, sure that all she will continue to wonder if he'll ever reciprocate her feelings. It's frustrating, he's sick of being two people, sitting on the fence with his sanity. He was never truly okay anyways, so the blame can't be put on Jonathan is sure she's sleeping he sighs with shaky exhaustion and whispers hesitantly, "I wish I never knew you."

The words are heard by Maria, but aren't directed to her_._

* * *

I know this one's shorter and it's been a while since my last update, but I hope you guys enjoyed this chapter. I've already finished each chapter outline and I'm just working on how to get the story to where I want the ending to be (which I actually wrote first). I'm thinking another eight chapters or so. Anyways, let me know what you think!


	6. Chapter 6

**I'm the fury in your head**  
**I'm the fury in your bed**  
**I'm the ghost in the back of your head**

**_Spanish Sahara_, Foals**

* * *

The university is boring and Jonathan doesn't really get the time to himself that he thought he would. He is kept busy by the senior professors, every day he grades the papers of incompetent young people working away at a degree they'll probably never use. Half of them will change their minds or switch into law. It had interested him once, the justice system – or lack of. He had always paid attention to the news and legal proceedings, even once he had been called for jury duty. It wasn't a particularly interesting experience, a petty crime that didn't deserve the attention it got. But Jonathan observed the lawyers work away at presenting facts and lies to protect the pocket in which their pay came from.

It wasn't really his type of thing. Though he had to admit as a child, being a judge had been a silly dream of his. A strange dream, but not the strangest he's had.

Jonathan thinks of those kinds of things as he marks essays and tests. He learns about students by the mistakes that they make on the multiple choice and the things they jot down for the short answer questions. Most are very linear, their thought process simple and black and white. He is jealous sometimes.

But after the weeks go by and the semester picks up, he finds himself loaded with work, along with sitting in during lectures he's already heard before and now presenting his own teachings about six times a week. He hardly has time to spend with his little side project, and like usual, the longer he stays away from it, the more unruly_ he_ becomes.

By July his internship is half way over. There has been no promise of a job permanent job yet, so he refuses to slack off as the others do. He works hard with his head down and mind focused on articles and journals assigned. There are times he finds himself worried about the future; it's the human side to him that wants luxury and safety. He isn't sure exactly what that means, but as of right now he finds himself anxious at the thought of not being hired immediately after his semester at the university is over.

Jonathan knows stress; he can sense it coming from a mile away. And lately Maria has been that looming sign of strain on his already hectic life. She walks around their home as if she is dying. Yet she does not call him out, she knows how their relationship works, but still she refuses to seek refuge in his somewhat empty words.

Sometimes he thinks about leaving her. He wonders if that's what she fears the most.

After nearly falling asleep in the department office, while attempting to grade the last few remaining papers, he decides it is time to pack his things and go home. It's that evening he finds her crying in the shower. Jonathan trudges up the stairs tiredly to retrieve a sweater; he pauses in the middle of pulling an old black hoodie over his head. From inside his bedroom he can hear the shower running from the adjoining bathroom. Maria usually has a night class right about now.

It's only polite to let her know that he is home, so he knocks rhythmically on the door, waiting for her voice above the pouring water. But there is no reply, so he tries the knob, which is coincidently left unlocked. When Jonathan steps into the steamy tiled room he immediately turns his gaze to the foggy glass of the shower door, seeing her blurry silhouette sitting quietly within.

"Maria?" he calls pointedly.

Her knees are drawn up to her chest; he is reminded of Leanne from so very long ago. The way she curled into the foetal position, soaked in water and paralyzed by fear. Something inside of him stirs; a mixture of unease and excitement. He reaches out and slides the door open, crouching down to her eye level and scratching his chin in thought. She doesn't acknowledge him and he is exhausted with her selfishness, the way she allows her emotions to dictate how he should spend his time. Usually he would pretend he heard nothing and leave for a few hours or the rest of the night, but today he decides to end the self loathing he has most definitely nurtured. So he steps into the small shower space with her, quickly he is drenched in cold water. She must have been in there for at least hour already, with the way her fingertips appear pale and pruned. She doesn't look up at him when he joins her; instead she remains in such a pathetic position and continues to sob.

Kneeling before her, he places a comforting hand on her shoulder in an attempt of comfort. The sentiment is followed by words almost opposite to the intention; he holds her chin in his hand and points her face so they are staring each other in the eyes. His voice is as cold as the ice water showering on them. He gives a sad sigh and says, "Being depressed is an awful reason to waste hot water. Continue on your life like everyone else."

Her coffee coloured eyes blink at him in disbelief, her lips quiver either from the low temperature or from the sorrow she carries. Her voice is small, but he hears her say, "I...I've tried. But I cannot."

He kisses her on the forehead and says, "You will learn to."

With that he helps her up and begins to bathe her. The cool water washes over her petite frame as he uses a bath sponge to grind soap against her skin until the caramel tone is tinted pink. He is rough when washing her legs and stomach, then her breasts and neck. He makes his way to her arms, hesitating when he sees goose bumps on her skin. Her body is shivering against his, but he doesn't care. She has stopped crying now.

After he is done scrubbing her, he pulls off his clothes, with a bit of difficulty from already being completely soaked. His own flesh is freezing, so he wraps his arms around her and pulls them together. There is part of him that feels almost ashamed to be with her like this, in such a sensual way, with no ulterior motives other than to be warm.

He rubs her back with his arms and without a second thought he asks, "What do you fear?"

She looks up at him, her nose brushing his shoulder softly. Her eyes are lost. "I don't understand."

"Your fears? What keeps you up at night?" he asks again, this time he is desperate.

She is drawn to him like a moth to fire, so she continues, "I dream about my father...about his body in a coffin."

"Yes..."Jonathan murmurs into her ear. Now he raises his hands to her shoulders and gives her a light shake, _**"What else, Maria? Who are you afraid of?"**_

She closes her eyes tightly and takes a sharp breath, "You, Jonathan. You scare me more than anything. The way you can control and manipulate me. And how distant you are at times, like I'm not even sure who you are. But I...I love you."

She is like him in many ways, the way she cannot commit to hating him.

He's not sure when it happens, but during her little speech he finds himself very hard against her thigh. It may have been when she had said his name, or even when she had told him she loved him again. It wasn't very often she said those words to him. There was entitlement and pride, in some broken sense.

Quickly he brushes the hair that is matted to his forehead out of his eyes and moves his hands back to her body. This time not innocently. He squeezes her breast roughly and digs his fingers into the spaces in-between her ribs. Their kisses are long and he finds himself pressing his hand against the back of her head to swallow her entire mouth. He smirks when his fingers roam her, the way she moans his name as he cleans her, as he taints her.

"Jonathan please..."

He takes her then, with his pelvic muscles pulsing and his eyes clenched shut. And as he's thrusting violently inside of her, he doesn't even notice the water pouring from the showerhead. But then it becomes harder to breathe, he's panting for air and his lungs are heavy. The shower is full of thick fog. He breathes in and out slowly, it's so familiar.

Fear.

Suddenly Maria's body is seizing, he is reminded of Leanne again. Jonathan lets go of her hips and pulls away, and in almost slow motion she has slumped to the tile floor. Fallen and in sobs. He's not sure what to make of himself while all of this is going on. The lights begin to flicker and his toes and fingers go numb. There is discomfort in his chest and several other parts of his body. He wonders if he's having a heart attack.

He wants to cradle Maria in his arms. She's scratching her skin and shaking her head frantically. There's blood everywhere. Jonathan knows it's the toxin. He's done it, he's killed her. And where he should feel relief and pride, instead he feels grief. He begins to cry. This isn't what he wanted.

She looks to him with hollow eyes and cries out, "You did this!"

"No! Christ...no...I didn't want this...not you..." he chokes out as his heart gives out.

Then he wakes up.

His body is covered in a cold sweat. The sheets of the bed are thrown hazardously across his legs. He looks down at himself and sees he fell asleep in the clothes he'd worked in the night before. The only exception being the black hoodie he was wearing. Jonathan realizes he must have fallen asleep after putting it on.

For a moment he doesn't move, instead he tries to reset his brain back to its default functions. It's the first time he's had a dream like that, the first time he's woken up with wet cheeks from the thoughts of Maria tortured by his own hands. He wonders if it's an omen, if maybe he's not ready to use her. Maybe he can have her, and they can be together without the toxin. Without fear.

"_**Johnny, don't forget who you are. You're a monster."**_

He doesn't want to be that man anymore, but it's just who he is.

So he contemplates killing himself. Not the first time it's crossed his mind. Certainly he's attempted it before, in times of desperation. But _he's _never let him, and sometimes Jonathan thinks that the Scarecrow is his will to live. It's sad, but true.

He had always been a scared little boy.

When he finally can't stand to lie in solitude any longer, he gets up and makes his bed. There isn't any bother to brush his hair or even put on his glasses, he just heads downstairs to living room. There he finds her reading. She is wearing an oversized navy blue shirt and little cotton shorts, curled up in the corner of their couch; beautiful in a conventional sort of way. It's morning and the sunlight is beaming through the window blinds unto her body. She is so drawn into her book that she doesn't notice him staring.

He remembers how at first he had openly mocked her about the silliness in romance novels; he had once quoted a line to her while she had been cooking dinner. In a way he enjoyed the blush he could tease out of her ever, but then she started buying books in Spanish, so he couldn't read them over her shoulder. Jonathan finds it amusing almost, the way Maria becomes so enthralled with her books, and how she folds the corners to bookmark her page.

Each of his books are left in mint condition, without a bend, fold, stain or blemish. There is no way with his neurotic orderliness can allow Jonathan to mindlessly destroy his own things. He has bought Maria at least a dozen bookmarks so she would refrain from messing up her own novels; she had thought it a sweet sentimental gift. In actuality it just killed him to walk by a book an inch and a half thicker than it should be, with little triangles of paper sticking out inside of the pages.

But he does note how she loves to read. She seems to be in her own little world, one he sometimes wouldn't mind being a part of.

He tries to humour himself and sits next to her on the couch. She looks up at him with a shy grin and goes to dog ear her page so she can turn her full attention to him. But instead her just drums a couple fingers against her leg and greets, "Good morning."

Maria puts her bookmark in-between the pages she's reading and places the book on the busy coffee table. Various notes and articles of Jonathan's are places neatly in organized piles upon the surface, he reminds himself to put away his things later.

After putting her book away she reaches towards the ceiling and stretches her arms, resembling a cat almost. The she says, "Good morning to you too."

Jonathan yawns, "Did you already have coffee?"

"I just went out to the cafe on 27th. Your coffee is in the kitchen, it's probably still hot." She replies while unfolding her legs from underneath her. Then she looks to him with a look of concern, "Did you hear about Max?"

It takes almost all of Jonathan's will power not to break his stoic expression.

He shakes his head, "The guy from that party ages ago? No...what happened?"

"I heard he overdosed last weekend at that bar you went to! You didn't see anything?" she asks with worry.

"No I left early, remember?" Jonathan lies elegantly, "I didn't know the guy was into that sort of stuff...not much of surprise considering the drug rate in Gotham."

Maria nods, "I guess so...I just feel so bad, apparently he locked himself in the washroom and almost choked on his own vomit. I'm not even sure what he was on."

There's a crack in the back wall of the living room, Jonathan considers the cost of repainting the small house. The colour is a bland off white, he thinks about a taupe, creamy and dark. He also entertains the idea of a rich navy blue to go with crisp white trim. The work would be tedious; he's never pegged himself as a home renovation sort of guy. But the bloody crack in the wall has been bothering him since he's moved in.

"...Jonathan?" Maria's voice brings him out of his thoughts of colours and tones.

"Sorry, must have zoned out...I'm feeling a bit tired lately." He answers semi-honestly, truth being he just lost interest in the topic of Max Stewart and his obsessive compulsive disorder had just taken over. Jonathan changes the subject and picks up the Spanish romance novel that Maria had been reading, "What's this one about?"

She looks to him with a slightly bewildered expression. "Sorry?"

"Other than the pages upon pages of misleading erotica." He says with a soft laugh, sweeping his thumb across the smooth skin of her calf.

The corners of her mouth twitch upwards and she taps the front page of the romance novel, "The plot? I didn't know you were interested in such things."

He raises a brow, "I am always interested in how a story reaches its climax."

This time she dismisses his advancements, but he can see her eyes brighten for the first time in quite a while. He realizes that sometimes he has to give a little; sometimes she needs him to be a little normal. Maria turns her attention back to her book and reads out loud.

"_She had considered that she was terrified of him, afraid to love him, to lose everything to him. But now she understood that her fear was the driving force, what allowed her to find a false escape in him, regardless of what occurred in the outside world. It was what kept them going. The fear of loss."_

He just can't catch a break.

"What a strange theme for a book about sex..." he muses out loud, though his blood has already ran cold.

She places it on the coffee table and captures his fingers in hers, "How else do you think I become so inspired?"

He mocks a hurt look, while clutching at the middle of his chest, "I thought it was all me."

"But it is, Jonathan." She replies softly, pausing to change her sitting position and finally crawling into his lap. She wraps her arms around his neck and smiles, "It always is."

He had always been a scared little boy.

It's not soon after that Maria gets another prescription for anti-depressants and anxiety drugs. He already knows the side effects and precautions of the simple medicine. Of course he knew, he had been an avid user back in his teens, before he knew how to control _it._ He is not surprised when she becomes quieter, now not bothering to take her morning jog or to eat as often as she should. She becomes void, and numb to all other emotions. Jonathan knows she is weak.

She cries a lot lately.

One night he coaxes her into dinner at a restaurant. Usually they can't afford to go out, but with his internship at the Gotham University as a teaching assistant, he decides to celebrate being one step closer to fulfilling his goal. And because a small part of him is trying to be better. Because he will owe her that.

He sits on the edge of his bed quietly waiting for her to exit the bathroom. During this time he has three things on his mind, he wonders if he should get an oil change for his car soon and whether or not he feels like oriental food or pasta for dinner. The third thought he has, is silenced for the most part. He thinks about his plans with Maria, he is procrastinating.

The voices in his head don't really bother him lately. Instead of the screaming and ticking and buzzing he could faintly make out at odd hours of the night, he hears Maria's breathing and the sounds of cars outside his window. But _he's_ still there. Even though _he_ doesn't say it, _he_ still wants her.

Jonathan knows this already, but he thinks to himself in a series of words and sentence fragments that don't quite make sense. There is conflict at the core of his motives; he isn't sure if Maria will die soon, or whether or not he can still stand to gas her. It's almost revolting to think of her writhing in pain and anguish, and yet it's all he thinks about.

She exits their bathroom all made up and ready to go. Her hair is pulled back into a pretty bun and her makeup is light, but he notices that the bags under her eyes seem to be lighter than usual. She wears dark red lipstick, something she only does for occasion and little black dress with criss-crossed straps in the back.

"You look very nice." His flattering remarks are so casual one would almost not register the compliment immediately.

Her mouth hangs open for a second; he likes the way her lips are stained red. Jonathan can count the compliments he's given her on one hand in the last several months that they have been together.

"Thank you, you look very nice yourself." She replies quickly.

He licks his bottom lip and brushes his hair out of his eyes, "Well I've heard I clean up quite well."

"It looks as if you want a haircut though." She gives a half smile; he catches the light taunt in her tone.

He shrugs and holds her hand, "And rob you of your favourite play thing? I think not."

Months ago she would have laughed. Instead she squeezes his palm softly.

Dinner is quiet. Not in an awkward way, but in a sort of silent agreement to enjoy the Thai meal that they don't often get to experience. Maria doesn't look up from her chicken stir fry, she is precise as she plays around with her food, and Jonathan knows she is forcing herself to eat. She does however drink the red wine with ease, and he joins her in-between bites of his pad Thai, stealing the occasional glance at her.

It's about ten minutes into their meal before she finally says, "If you're going to keep looking at me without saying anything I might think to call you creepy."

His mouth stretch into a wide grin and he replies jokingly, "But I love the way you eat!"

She beams, and Jonathan is sickened by the butterflies in his stomach at the sight of her. She takes a purposeful bite of broccoli and chews it with exaggerated appreciation, even adding a barely audible moan and rolling her eyes back for extra measure.

"Ohh baby..." he purrs in tease.

She lifts an eyebrow at him in confusion and he laughs out loud; it's strange to hear the sound come from his own mouth. The way his diaphragm moves and his lungs inflate and deflate with air. Such a foreign feeling. And Maria nearly chokes from giggling when she recovers from the embarrassment. The sound is twinkly and sweet, and Jonathan is happy to see her cheered up by his own efforts.

Maria smiles at him and says "You're crazy you know that?"

Very seriously he answers, "Absolutely insane."

It's hard to handle a relationship with a man and his multiple personalities, that's why Jonathan is so patient with Maria's constant battle with her emotions, because in a way he obligated to understand.

A couple minutes later she puts down her fork and states, "You never call me baby."

"Would you rather I did?" he questions, studying her thought process that she easily projects by her facial expressions. He of course never would stoop as low as little nicknames that normal couples seem to find necessary. They aren't a normal couple.

She thinks for a second and then answers, "No. "

He gives her an obnoxious closed lip smile and then takes another bite of chicken.

There's a faint blush on her cheeks and she looks down at her plate before saying quietly, "I know what you're trying to do, Jonathan."

He ignores her completely and reaches for the wine bottle, "More?"

"No." She states sternly, now her emotions unfolding from the reserved packed away spot they had been stored in. She rubs her temple almost in exhaust, "You don't need to do this. It isn't you."

He's downs the rest of his wine and licks his lips.

"Maria. I just want you to know I care." He replies, and he almost can't believe himself. So instead he pauses and takes a calm breath before saying, "I'm trying."

"I know you are!" she exclaims loudly, catching the attention of the couple sitting a few tables over. Her posture relaxes and she bites her lip sheepishly before turning to the strangers and apologizing. Then she looks back at Jonathan, who seems all too observant in her sudden outburst. Maria swallows, "You're not yourself. And I know I'm not myself either...but I'm more myself than you are right now."

He raises an eyebrow, "You're not making sense."

But he knows exactly what she means.

She picks up the napkin lying in her lap and places it on her half finished meal. With a remorseful look she gets up and apologizes, "I can't do this anymore. I'm sorry."

And then she leaves the restaurant.

Jonathan tosses his napkin into his plate and growls out, "Well what the fuck?"

The weekend ends and Jonathan is still in a state of numbness. It's been two days and he still hasn't heard from Maria. The previous nights had gone by and part of him wasn't surprised to find her missing when he arrived home. Even after that, when he was sure she would return the next day, he did not sleep at all during the night. Saturday passed as well; and he glanced at his phone at least forty-two times but refused to make any sort of attempt at communications with her. He would not feed this childish tantrum she threw. It was not his fault that she could not accept his kindness as genuine, regardless of his true motives, whatever they may be.

But then Sunday comes, and when he hears the knocking on his door, Jonathan feels his heart almost stop. He opens it expecting Maria, but instead is met with her ex roommate. The fact that she had sent Danielle over to pick up some things completely outrages him. But he says nothing, though livid, Jonathan Crane knows which battles were worth the fight.

He rubs at the scarred tissue next to his collar bone and knows.

"_**She'll be back."**_

* * *

To my readers who have remained so patient and supporting, thank you so much. I'm trying to continue writing, but it would seem as if my brain is only functioning within very short but productive periods of time. Don't worry, the story isn't over yet, not for quite a while.

And seriously, if you're feeling a bit conflicted about this chapter, understand two things: that if you squint you can see it centers around Maria, battling depression and dealing with dating a rather dysfunctional person, but seen from the perspective of Jonathan. And that the next couple chapters to follow are very different in how they move the plot, my hint being think Batman Begins.

Anyways, like usual if you have any input, questions or just want to say how you felt then feel free to review. Thank you!


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